You Can Call Me Tommy
by Bowles
Summary: You know something's amiss when Voldemort's on a mission to right his wrongs and save the universe for all that it's worth.
1. It's Snake Man!

So, I've finally entered the parody section. I've been dying to for ages, but being home all day sick really made me write this. I needed something to energize me.

A few notes: 1) This will contain references to many things about fandoms and such. If you're not a frequent fandom follower, some of the jokes may blow right over you, but most of you know the basics: shoddy angst fics, Mary Sues, clichés, etc.

2) There will be stereotypes of social groups, such as emos. This is just because this is also an overused concept in fanfiction, and it really made for a much funnier fic. I don't mean to offend anybody… Okay, I'm probably going to offend somebody. Get over it. I know plenty of emo people and they're all quite nice, so I really don't care if you have a problem with me when I stereotype something.

3) Don't expect frequent updates. This is below other fics and schoolwork on my priority list.

And 4) Expect sarcasm. (And don't panic!)

Without further ado, the fic.

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But you knew that._

_EDIT: Thank you to Lilly for pointing out that there was an error and Chapter 8 was mistakenly placed instead of this chapter. It's been fixed now._

* * *

**BEFORE WE START OUR FIC... WE BRING YOU A QUICK MESSAGE FROM DOLORES UMBRIDGE BY ORDER OF THE MINISTER OF MAGIC CONCERNING THE SEVENTH BOOK AND CANON.**

_"Hem, hem."_

Dolores Umbridge sat at her desk. Pictures of cats were plastered all over the walls, but the room was otherwise unremarkable. It was rather pink, though. She liked the color pink. No clue why, you'd have to ask her. I think it's because –  
_  
"Hem, hem."_

Right. Sorry. I'll let you get to your shindig.

"Thank you." Umbridge coughed. "Now, if you are reading this, clearly you are intending to read this parody fanfiction written by the individual known as the Author. Whether you are a new reader or an old reader, the Minister has informed me that he finds it essential that I bring to your attention one small detail."

Umbridge cleared her throat and unraveled a large scroll of paper. "Artistic Decree Number Fifty-Four: the Minister of Magic wishes for it to be known to all readers of this fanfiction that the first seven chapters take place from the end of Half-Blood Prince and ignore the events of Deathly Hallows. _However,_ starting with chapter eight this story will deal directly with the events of Deathly Hallows. Thus, for all intents and purposes, it is in compliance with mainstream canon, yet still AU. So, in effect, the Minister wishes for readers to consider this fic AU, which, in all honesty, you would anyways."

She smiled. "Thank you. That will be all. Enjoy the story."

* * *

One: It's Snake-Man!

- - -

It was cold, dark, and raining outside Number Four, Privet Drive. The weatherman had predicted another dry day but the author of this fanfiction decided that rain was much more dramatic. We're talking Oscar dramatic. Dryness? Not so much.

Harry Potter was sitting against his bed, and was very angry (of course). There is no need for introduction to Harry Potter for if you did not already know who he was, then you would not be reading this. Of course.

Well, anyway. Harry was angry, very angry. His anger was directed at several things: Dumbledore, Snape, Lestrange, Voldemort, Dumbledore, fate, Snape, Snape, and Snape once more, just for kicks. Harry did not like Snape, but you already know this too. If you did not know this, you are just immensely dense.

But then… Harry stewed over the fact that – well, you know what happens here. There's character development (gasp) that involves Harry either a) coming to a revelation about his love life, b) deciding he hated Dumbledore and now would aim to kill him (who cares if Dumbledore was already dead – it could be pre-HBP), c) having a vision about a mysterious American witch who is perfect in every way coming to Hogwarts (who is incidentally named Mary Sue), or d) just being angry. Time is money, as they say, so the author (now referred to as the Author – capitalization means that the person is important) decided to skip over this. Now comes the plot (another gasp).

And of course, the Author completely forgets the fact that Harry might not be angry. But this is angst. Or something resembling it.

Harry was busy vowing to avenge Dumbledore (who he might just hate if the Author chose to add that twist) when someone popped up behind him.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry glared at Ron Weasley, his best friend and fellow Gryffindor. Ron Weasley does need some introduction, because people might've forgotten who he is. He's not that important, anyway.

"Ron!" snapped Harry angrily. "Can't you see I'm being angsty?"

"Er…" Ron scratched his head dumbly, for apparently most authors thought that he was missing most of his brain cells. "Wait a minute, wasn't that last year after Sirius died?"

"How dare you!"

This was followed by a scene of violence and girlish screams, which the Author is far too lazy to write. Instead, we shall flash forward to when Hermione intervened at a convenient time.

"Harry, stop strangling Ron!" intervened Hermione conveniently in a timely fashion. "Ron, stop screaming!"

"Sorry, 'Mione," said Ron apologetically.

"Don't call me 'Mione."

"Sorry." He rubbed his neck gingerly. "Surely you can explain why we're here. I've completely forgotten, which will lead to you giving readers a convenient recap of the events of the sixth book."

"Don't call me Shirley, either." Hermione sighed deeply. "Well, if you've forgotten, Ron, you and I are here because, as we said to Harry in the last pages of the Half-Blood Prince…"

At this point Harry stopped paying attention. His mind wandered to darker topics… how Sirius had died, how Dumbledore had died, how Snape was still living, how Dudley was still living…

Tears escaped from his eyes and dropped to the floor dramatically.

"Harry! Stop crying, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione tapped her foot on the ground expectantly. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

"Yes?"

"No! All you do is cry and brood!"

"Now, that's not fair, Hermione," said Ron, shooting a reassuring look at Harry that clearly said, _"Don't worry, mate, I'll screw this up even more_." "There was also that time Harry and I got high on gillyweed a few nights back."

Fond memories filled Harry's head, kicking out a few of the cobwebs that had resided within. Oh, that had been a glorious night…

"Yes, Ronald, you should be _very proud_ of yourself," drawled Hermione sarcastically "Really, this has been hellish! You two have been acting out of character ever since we got here!"

"It could be Dursley's cooking," offered Ron. "It's not that great."

Hermione groaned. "No, it isn't! Do you even remember what happened at Bill and Fleur's wedding?"

"Er…"

"_So, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley brightly as she passed him the pudding, "how are you doing?"_

"_Horrible," Harry growled as he wiped at his eyeliner irritably with a napkin. "The depths of my heart are dark and bloody."_

_Mrs. Weasley looked taken aback. "Well… that's nice."_

"_Ron!" yelled Ginny from the other room. "Stop stealing my makeup! Harry can go buy his own if he wants to be emo!"_

At the thought of Ginny his knees buckled. Oh, Ginny…

"Stop thinking about Ron's little sister."

"Yeah," Ron said, catching on. "Stop thinking about my little sister!"

"I wasn't!" Harry protested defensively. "I was… er… thinking about how to steal Aunt Petunia's makeup!"

"Oh, God, Harry, not the makeup," Hermione groaned. She rubbed her eyes wearily. "You've been acting emo ever since Dumbledore's funeral!"

Harry stood angrily. "It's not my fault if my heart is barren and desolate! It's not my fault if you guys don't understand that my soul has been crushed by the weight of so many expectations!"

"Here we go again," muttered Ron.

"Harry, stop it," Hermione demanded. "Besides, most of the emo bands out there won't exist for another six or seven years. I don't even know how you got started on this. Probably some mistake of the Author's, no doubt."

At this point a beam of light struck Hermione and she swore.

"OW!" She rubbed the back of her head furiously. "Would you stop doing that? It's a free country, and I can insult you if I like!"

Lightning flashed warningly outside the window. The fug on the window contorted itself into an angry face, and she sighed.

"All right, all right. The Author is great and should never be criticized. His story is the best."

Where the angry face had been a smiley face replaced it, and she rolled her eyes.

"Git." Lightning hit a tree outside, causing it to fall on an unsuspecting squirrel. "Er, I mean, great!"

"Wow," said Ron admiringly, "the Author sure is powerful."

"Yes, he is," stated Hermione seriously. "But anyway, where was I?"

Harry shrugged. "You were ranting about how I was acting out of character."

"Oh. That." She put her hands on her hips and drew up to her full height, which was approximately a foot less than that of Harry's. "Well, Harry James Potter, you and Ron have been acting very out of character lately! You've been dark and bitter when we know that you got over that in HBP, and Ron has been acting even dumber than normal, something that I didn't think was possible."

"Yeah!" agreed Ron dumbly.

"See?" She shook her head. "We have to do something about this. If you guys go on acting out of character, who knows how this story could end? I'd be marrying Draco, Ron would be six feet under, and you'd be in love with some hopelessly perfect American girl!"

"You're right, Hermione," Harry said gravely. "This is very serious. If we don't do something, you'll marry Draco!"

"And my life will be at stake!" offered Ron, hoping someone would pick up on it.

"Hush, Ron. We need to focus on the important things."

Hermione clucked her tongue in a mother-like fashion. "And what about the American girl?"

Harry feigned a look of innocence. "Yes, that. It would be horrible if I married an amazingly attractive, perfect girl. I shudder at the mere thought of it!"

"Of course you do." Sarcasm laced Hermione's words.

"But how are we going to get back in character?" asked Ron.

"That's simple," said Hermione. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "We have to find the Author and force him to rewrite this fic."

Ron gasped. "But… but…" He stopped and scratched his head. "Erm, what?"

"Don't worry, Ron, you couldn't possibly understand it," Harry said soothingly, patting his friend on the shoulder. He smiled as he quietly admired his nail polish. It was a dark green, which wasn't exactly a dark purple, but it really did accentuate his eyes –

"Harry, stop it."

"Oh. Sorry, Hermione." He removed his hand from Ron's shoulder and stuck it back in his pocket, where the polish would sadly remain out of sight. "Hold on, why isn't the Author doing any more of that lightning stuff?"

"Probably went away from his computer," she replied. "In fact, I'm certain of it. Notice how the clouds outside have come to a standstill? They had been moving quite a bit earlier, but he stopped writing, so now they're kind of –"

"Comatose," Harry finished.

Hermione's eye twitched, and he knew that she wanted to correct him. "If it's possible for clouds to be comatose, then yes."

Ron pressed his face up against the window, his eyes widening. "Bloody hell, those are big and dark clouds!"

"They represent the darkness of my soul," said Harry dramatically.

At this point Hermione slapped him so hard that he was thrown against the wall.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get," she said with a pleased smile.

"What are those called, 'Mione?" asked Ron obliviously.

"Clouds?" came the muffled and perplexed voice of Harry from his position under a pile of books that Hermione had thrown on top of him.

"Don't call me 'Mione," said Hermione dangerously. "But besides that, that could have been an intelligent question, Ron. Those aren't just clouds. Those are Clouds of Foreboding… from the looks of it, Ominous Clouds of Foreboding."

"Oh." Ron traced the smiley face absently with his fingers. "And that means…"

"Something bad's going to happen soon," she answered.

"How do you know all of this?" asked Harry, having finally thrown the books off of him.

"I read it in _Writing for Idiots_," she said. "After you both started acting out of character, I figured that would have the answer. In fact, it's in my bag, if you want to read it."

"I'll pass."

"I thought you might." She shook her head disappointedly. "I don't know too much yet, but I've got a basic grip on everything. Maybe I'll tell you later, when we go off to find the Author."

Ron whimpered. "But won't it be…"

"Difficult, Ron. The word you're looking for is 'difficult'."

"Yeah. Won't it be difficult to find the Author? I mean, we have to find the… er…"

"We have to find the Horcruxes, too, you mean," Hermione completed.

"Yeah. Those."

"Well," she said with a sigh, "I don't think we'll be able to go off to find the Horcruxes with an emo hero and a sidekick with the intelligence of a flea. So, we're going to have to find the Author first."

"This is all some scheme of Voldemort!" exclaimed Harry furiously. "He's sensed the darkness of my heart and has used this Author to destroy us all!"

Hermione deadpanned. Ron sneezed.

"Well, you could be right, Harry," she said carefully. "But I doubt it. Voldemort is too ignorant to think of something like this. Although this does make our Horcrux hunt harder."

"But how are we going to find the Author?" inquired Ron.

"It's going to be hard, I'll admit," stated Hermione. "We're going to have to ask around, and possibly have to go into some very dangerous places. There are two things that I know of that are possibly the most terrifying things on this Earth, but I fear we shall have to encounter them."

"What are they, Gandalf?" Ron asked.

"Hermione, Ron." She shot him an odd look and continued. "They are…"

She looked from side to side before leaning forward and whispering something so low that Harry could barely hear it.

"The Internet… and the Fandom."

Ron screamed and darted under the bed. Harry blinked. Hermione bit her lip irritably.

"Ron, do you even know what those are?"

"No!" he yelled. "That's why they're so terrifying!"

"Well, at least you got that bit."

"What are these… Internets and Fandoms?" asked Harry timidly.

What Hermione would say he would never know. At that moment lightning struck three times outside the bedroom, hitting three trees (that incidentally fell on three separate squirrels). Ron screamed again, Harry blinked again, and Hermione just stared.

"DAMN IT, BOY!" Uncle Vernon's voice floated into the small bedroom violently. "WHAT'D YOU DO THIS TIME?"

"I DIDN'T DO THAT!" Harry yelled.

"I KNOW YOU HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT!" Uncle Vernon roared.

"WHY ARE WE YELLING?" asked Ron loudly, his head poking out from under the bed.

"TELL THAT IDIOT FRIEND OF YOURS TO SHUT UP!"

"I JUST MIGHT DO THAT!" screamed Harry angrily.

"GOOD!"

"GOOD!"

"GOOD!" Ron repeated.

"Ron, shut up."

"Sorry."

Without warning, the doorbell rang, and Harry immediately knew it was an ominous sign of foreboding.

"BOY!"

"I'M INSIDE, DAMN IT!" Harry yelled. He ran his hands through his hair, which sadly was not stylized – Hermione had hidden scissors and any other sharp objects away as soon as he'd begun going through this new phase. "Sometimes, I just feel that they don't understand the bleak desolation of my soul, so they have to blame me for everything."

"Er…" Ron patted him awkwardly on the back. "It'll be all right, mate?"

"Harry, stop it," Hermione said. "You're scaring him. You're becoming part of a social group that doesn't even exist. It's 1997, after all."

"IS ANYONE GOING TO ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR?"

Harry growled. "YES, UNCLE VERNON!"

He stormed out of the room, muttering something fiercely ("You just don't understand the deep, dark pits of my heart!"). Hermione followed, but then stopped and sighed.

"Ron! That's our queue!"

"What? Oh."

And so the two sidekicks hurried into the hallway and down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Harry was all ready at the door, and prepared to open it.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "Wait! What if that was a Death Eater?"

"I don't care!" he said miserably. "Life is horrible! Sirius is dead!"

"Dumbledore, too!" piped up Ron brightly.

Harry shot him an annoyed look. "As I was saying, Sirius is dead! There's no reason for me to live anymore without my best friend! Maybe I want to die!"

"Best friend?" said Hermione skeptically. "What are we, next-door neighbors?"

"Hey," Ron said, rubbing his chin in deep thought. "Didn't George say that once?"

"Shut up, Ron," she barked. She glared at Harry. "Well, at least ask who it is!"

"Fine." He leaned his face against the door so that it was almost touching it. "Who is it?"

There was coughing and swearing on the other side of the doorway. "Er, Stan Shunpike! Yeah' tha's right, it's me, Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus!"

"But Stan Shunpike's in prison!"

"Damn!" There was another cough. "I mean, I got out early! Woss your problem with that?"

"Nothing," said Harry defensively.

"Oh, yeah? Well, it sounds like you 'ave a problem with that, don' it?"

"No, it doesn't!"

"Well, I never! Years of loy'l service to the Bus, an' 'Arry Potter don' believe me."

"I believe you!" growled Harry angrily. "In fact, I'll prove it!"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't –"

But it was too late. Harry had all ready opened the door. Before them stood a tall figure, dressed in a soaked trench coat with a stylish (yet also soaked) Italian hat. His face was hidden in shadows.

"Come on in, Stan!" said Ron warmly.

"Thank 'oo," said the figure, doing just that. Water spilled down from his coat and onto the floor, and Petunia's shrieks could be heard from upstairs.

"Someone's spilled water on my floor! I CAN SENSE THESE THINGS!"

"Damn," muttered Harry.

"Thanks for yer 'ospitality," said the figure quietly. "But I'm afraid I'm gonna 'ave to, whadda they call it, 'violate yer trust'."

"Er…"

"CLEAN UP THAT SPILL RIGHT NOW!"

The foursome ignored her. The figure stepped forward and removed his dangerously stylish hat. The three unsuspecting students gasped.

"Voldemort!" gasped Harry.

"Lord Voldemort!" gasped Hermione.

"Snake-Man!" gasped Ron.

"That is one of my many names," agreed Voldemort with a nod. He smiled slightly. "In fact, in Albania they were quite fond of calling me that. Of course, I killed them all for their insolence."

At this he seemed to grow very dejected, his shoulders sagging considerably.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder consolingly. "Is your heart dark and barren, too?"

"Harry! Stop it! This guy wants to kill you!"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Hermione."

"I'm not here to kill anyone," said Voldemort sadly. "Frankly, I'm somewhat insulted that you would think so. It's really not fair to judge people like that."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, you're right! Let's see, you've only tried to take over the Wizarding World twice, you've only killed a countless number of people, and you only discriminate against anyone not pure-blooded!"

"Yes, well, I'm hoping to change that," he said with a sigh. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," Ron said anxiously.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Voldemort said with an uncharacteristic smile. "Where to begin?"

"At the beginning?" Ron suggested.

"That sounds good." He sighed again. "So, I go to see my psychiatrist last week, right? I mean, I haven't seen him in what, fourteen years, so I figure I'm due for a visit. I go in and he does his little examination, and he says to me, 'Tom, you're an egomaniac with a tendency to ruin lives and generally do evil deeds.' Now, I have to say, this somewhat shocked me at first. I went into a figurative bubble in my chambers. No Death Eaters were allowed in. I was very depressed. Let's just say that a lot of low-fat ice cream was consumed, and many daytime soap operas were watched."

"Poor thing," said Ron sympathetically.

"It was then, during a particularly tumultuous episode of some Muggle television show, that I realized what I must do." Voldemort paused for dramatic effect.

"Not be evil?" Harry proposed.

"Well, that," agreed the Dark Lord, "and make peace with my greatest enemies. Seeing as Dumbledore's dead and most '80s rock groups are disbanded, you're the only one left on the list, Harry."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Well, that's great. Hope to see you later, then! Bye!"

"Wait!" pleaded Voldemort. "I need your help. I'm also trying to right all of my wrongs. Apparently, it's a long list, so there's no doubt I'll need assistance."

Harry laughed. "You really want _me_ to help _you_?"

"Um… yeah?"

"We'll help you!" blurted out Hermione. Harry looked at her in disbelief, but she continued on anyway. "That is, if you'll help us. We're… sort of on a quest, too."

"A quest?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "What kind of quest?"

"Well, if you can't tell all ready, Harry and Ron are out of character," said Hermione. "You appear to be, too. Some author has evidently made a mistake. If we want to fix this, we're going to have to find the author and force them to rewrite us."

Voldemort scratched his chin. "Hm… it's not a bad idea! Such a feat would certainly atone for some of my sins!"

"But not all of them," Ron reminded him. "There's a lot, mind you."

Hermione ignored him. "So it's a deal, then?"

"It's a deal."

She extended her hand to him. "Been a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Voldemort."

"Same to you," he said, taking her hand relucantly and shaking it. "But don't call me Voldemort. I would like something with more positive connotations. Tommy, perhaps."

"Fine. Been a pleasure doing business with you, Tommy."

"Thank you."

"Just wondering," stated Harry, "how'd you do that Stan Shunpike accent?"

Voldemort – er, Tommy – grinned. "It's a gift. I've been doing voices ever since I was a wee tyke. Why, there was this one time back in 'Nam that…"

There was a scream from upstairs and the four were forced to cover their ears.

"CLEAN UP THAT SPILL!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry called, rolling his eyes. He motioned to the kitchen. "Ron, get me a towel. It's time we cleaned up this mess."

Ron obediently walked off to the kitchen, muttering excitedly.

"Wow," they heard him say, "that was the most dramatic thing _ever_!"


	2. Chapters Two and Two and a Half

Gah, sorry for the incredibly long wait. This isn't my top priority and it's pretty hard to write (I work best on this in short bursts for some reason) but to make up for it I wrote this as a short double-chapter (if that makes any sense). It literally makes fun of just about everything. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Sorry for this pathetic excuse for a parody. (Oh, and I don't own anything that isn't mine.)

* * *

Two: Sorry For the Inconvenience

- - -

After Ron had finally returned with the towel (it took him several tries to get it right – the first two times he brought an apple and a knife, which Hermione hastily hid from Harry), the group got to work cleaning up Voldemort's mess (the Author just refuses to call him Tommy). Really, it was only Ron working, for Hermione considered herself above such grunt work, and Harry was busy lamenting to Voldemort the loss of his true love.

"You know, Voldie –"

"Tommy."

"You know, Tommy," lamented Harry mournfully, "it had to end. With you on the loose, it was just too dangerous. My heart would have been crippled if your servants had killed her to get to me. It would have bled slowly, through my nostrils and back into my mouth. From there it would go down my throat, causing me much pain, which really just reflects the state of my soul at the moment."

Voldemort stared at him. "Meheh?"

"Ron, I think you're done," Hermione said briskly.

Ron, who had just been scrubbing the dry spots on the floor with the towel, shook his head, his face contorting in concentration. "It's not _perfect_!"

"You know, this is kind of scary," she commented. "I've never seen Ron actually work in his life."

"Agreed." Harry scratched the back of his head. "So where do we go from here? How do we find the Author?"

"Asking around, I guess," Hermione replied. "There's not much else we can do."

"I have a contact," piped up Voldemort. "He goes by the name of Igor Eugendoodle-Smith. He knows much about some of the darker aspects of the world."

"Would he know about the Internet and the Fandom?" asked Harry.

Voldemort shrugged. "Possibly."

"Where does he live?"

"In London. It's not too hard to Apparate there."

"We don't have our licenses," said Harry sadly. "And I'm not sure if we should risk Side-Along Apparition with such a large group."

"You're right," Voldemort stated dejectedly. "Even though I am possibly the most talented wizard the world has ever seen."

Hermione looked out the window and smiled. "We could drive there."

"Drive?" Harry spluttered. "Forget the fact that none of us know how to drive! But where are we going to get a car, anyway?"

"Your aunt and uncle have one," she pointed out.

"Oh." He grinned. "Good idea."

"ARE YOU TRYING TO STEAL MY CAR, BOY?"

Thundering footsteps could be heard coming closer and closer, until finally Vernon Dursley stood before them. His mustache was quivering with anger and his face was red; this was not a good sign.

"Tommy, hurry up and do something," Harry hissed covertly.

"But –"

"ARE YOU TRYING TO STEAL MY CAR?"

"Do something!"

Voldemort sighed. "Fine. _Imperio_."

Uncle Vernon's face became pale, and his mustache froze in place. His eyes were distant, and the group knew instantly that the Unforgivable had worked.

"Excellent," said Harry in an evil voice, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Vernon Dursley, you will let us steal your car."

"Borrow, Harry."

"_Borrow_ your car. Sorry, Hermione." He turned back to Uncle Vernon. "Furthermore, you will not alert the police, nor come after us with a gun or knife or whatever it is you were plotting to kill us with. To add to all of that, you will maintain that this confrontation never took place."

"Yes, master," said Uncle Vernon dully.

Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And give me your wallet."

"Harry!"

"What? We might need some money!"

It was too late for Hermione to protest. Harry was now in possession of Vernon Dursley's wallet and car keys, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"I think that's it," said Voldemort. "We should be leaving."

"Right-o," said Harry. He made for the door, but tripped over Ron, who was still scrubbing away. "Damn it, Ron! We're leaving!"

"Fine," Ron growled angrily. "If you get a bacteria infection, it's not my fault."

Harry had all ready stepped outside the door, swearing profusely, when Hermione stopped him.

"_Harry_! Aren't you forgetting our luggage? Hedwig?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Hermione," he stated confidently. "I've got it covered."

He pointed his wand into the air and shot green sparks from it. Wind began howling, and he coughed.

"Any minute now, I'm sure."

At that second, there was a pop, and before them stood Remus Lupin. His clothes were ragged and his hairs were greying, but not so much to the point where he was unattractive. No, quite the reverse, actually, for many fangirls actually had crushes on Lupin. Werewolf, you say? Werewolves are the hot thing right now!

"Professor," Harry greeted him.

"Don't call me 'Professor'," said Lupin, thus saying what he must say in every fic that has Harry and Lupin interacting. "It's been a long time since I've been your professor. Remus will do."

"Whatever you say, Pro– Remus," Harry responded, fulfilling his part of the standard Harry-Lupin interaction. "But anyway, all of our stuff is upstairs and we just Imperio'd my uncle. Do you think you could take care of it for us?"

"Of course, Harry. Why not? I've got nothing better to do!"

He trudged off into the house, mumbling darkly under his breath.

"Well," said Harry, clapping his hands together, "I'm glad that's settled! Now that my slave –"

"Lupin's not your slave, Harry," Hermione reminded him.

"Father –"

"Not that, either."

"Lover –"

"In your wildest dreams."

"Sirius's lover –"

Hermione shrugged. "Close enough."

"Okay. Now that _Sirius's lover_ is off doing my gruntwork, we may leave." He dangled the keys from his finger and a mischevious grin came upon his features. "I'll drive."

"Oh, no, no, no, mister," Hermione protested as she wagged her finger. "You're not driving that thing. We need someone with intelligence."

"Intelligence? Who're you talking about? You're certainly not intelligent!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Following this was a small tussle that McGonagall herself would have been proud of. Before it was over, Voldemort's previously nonexistent hair would be turned pink, Harry's Evanescence shirt would be transfigured into a bunny suit, and the house next door would inexplicably end up as a submarine. After it was all said and done, they somehow reached the conclusion that Ron would drive the car, even though he was probably the worst candidate of the four.

"Waitaminnit," spluttered Harry as he took his seat in the back of the car with Hermione. "Why is Ron driving again?"

"I don't know, Harry," she replied, adjusting her skirt. "The Author decided to skip that passage because he didn't really want to write it, so I guess we'll never know."

"All right, guys!" exclaimed Ron happily, holding the keys above his head in a gesture of triumph. "Buckle up – here we go!"

There was silence as they waited for the car to start.

And more silence.

And more silence.

And even a little more.

"Ron," Hermione muttered, "you have to actually stick the keys in the little hole for it to start. You just ruined a really dramatic moment there."

"Oh. Sorry." He did as she had said and grinned goofily. "Here we go!"

With a roar the car shot backwards, hitting a tree on the lawn. The tree merely fell over, however, and the car did not seem to have taken any damage.

"I put up some protective barriers when you weren't looking," explained Voldemort as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. "It was most convenient. You know, I think I like this color. It really goes well with my eyes."

"Oh, God," moaned Hermione, covering her face with her hands.

There was much jerking as Ron attempted to drive the car. Bystanders were forced to be on alert, for otherwise they would have all perished. With help from Voldemort's wand (which served as a GPS of a sort – an updated version of the Four Point Spell!), they began to traverse their way to London.

"What's this?" Voldemort asked. He was pointing at the radio.

Harry grinned. "It plays music."

"Oh." He pushed the "on" button and immediately emo music began pouring from the speakers. Ron winced; Hermione grimaced; Voldemort's ears nearly burst into flames; Harry began singing along.

"Turn it!" Hermione begged. Voldemort obliged, settling on a sports station, and she breathed heavily. "Good. Emo music is unbearable."

"That's just your opinion!" protested Harry.

"Harry, what you don't realize is that my opinions are actually facts. Emo is just a bunch of whining." She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Actually, all music really is just whining."

"Even rap?" Ron said incredulously.

"Don't be silly, Ron." Hermione made a face. "Rap isn't music. It's audio-erotica."

"Aw, you're just hatin'."

To spite her, Ron turned it on England's most prolific rap station, and the car bounced its way to London on previously unmentioned hydraulics. They all rocked to the beat, occasionally bursting into freestyle during lulls in the rap, and in an inexplicable amount of time (for the Author really doesn't care how long it took) they reached the great city.

How much time, you ask? Well, let's just say it was enough time for the gang to become severely ghettified. By the time they got to London, they were all homies and dawgs, and had all ready had several gang fights and turf wars.

Voldemort and Harry were just celebrating a victory in the most recent turf war (they gained an extra cup-holder) when a rather irritable Ron slammed his foot on the breaks.

"We're here," he snapped. "London."

"Aw, snaps," said Harry, making a chipmunk-like sound that only the truly "gangsta" could make. "Why you have to be so hatin', g-unit?"

"Yeah," piped in Voldemort, "you's be disrespecting us."

"Us" referred to their gang: the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz. It had changed names several times (each time after crushing defeats – at one point after losing control of the glove compartment Voldemort suggested, in frustration over their surrender, that they change their name merely to "the French"), but this was a name that would stay.

But alas, it would only stay for all of five seconds. It was at that point that Hermione turned off the radio, and as if coming out of some spell, Harry and Voldemort put down their respective spray cans (and beanies, ski caps, guns, knives, and/or other playful accessories) and immediately stopped their gang bravado.

"Whoa," said Harry. He scratched his head and stared blankly out of the window. "I don't remember a single thing that just happened."

Voldemort nodded, perplexed. "Neither do I."

And so Hermione convinced them that they would never ever listen to rap again, for it had corrupted their fragile little minds.

They all got out of the car, which was now sadly vandalized, and onto the curb of the street. It was raining, of course, because that's just pretty damn dramatic.

"So," said Hermione, "where is this Igor…"

"Igor Eugendoodle-Smith," finished Voldemort. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, I don't really remember. It's somewhere around here."

Harry sighed. "Well, isn't that convenient! What're we supposed to do, just ask everyone we meet if they know an Igor…"

"Eugendoodle-Smith."

"What're we supposed to do, just ask everyone we meet if they know an Igor Eugendoodle-Smith?"

"That's the plan."

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Okay."

Now that the only remaining tension had been dispelled by Harry's newfound short term memory loss, the group set out to find the mysterious Igor…

"Eugendoodle-Smith," said Voldemort helpfully.

The group set out to find the mysterious Igor Eugendoodle-Smith. Harry and Hermione decided to cover one side of the street, as Hermione feared that Harry may try to seduce one of his fellow males if given a chance, and Ron and Voldemort were chosen to cover the other.

All in all, it was an intriguing affair.

First off, our bossy but intelligent heroine (Hermione) and our chronically depressed former hero (Harry) were having a little trouble. No less than fifteen homeless people had approached them looking for cash, and two had gotten dangerously violent. The first time an old man pulled out a knife on the two, demanding their money; Hermione quickly disarmed him, erased his memory, and forced him to do a hundred jumping jacks – all without breaking a sweat. The second time a crazy lady pulled out a sausage on the two, demanding their money; Hermione quickly directed her to the nearest social worker – again, without breaking a sweat.

"Wow," Harry marveled, "you sure are powerful, Hermione."

"I know, Harry," she agreed, rather pleased with herself.

"You're really good at magic."

"Yep," she said.

"And you're smart."

She nodded. "That, too."

"And beautiful."

"Er… yes, and that."

"I think I love you."

"That's nice, Harry." She patted his shoulder reassuringly. "But you love Ginny, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." He grinned stupidly. "Thanks, Hermione. Sometimes I just forget."

"It's all right. I know you do."

On the other side, it was a bit less mushy.

Our loyal but dim sidekick (Ron) and our pink-haired former villain (Voldemort) were having a little trouble. No less than fifty-five prostitutes – er, female escorts, that is – had approached them, wondering them if they were interested in their services. Fifty-five times Ron consented, although Voldemort's wisdom prevented him from doing anything (or someone, in this case) that he might regret. If Ron were intelligent then he would've been thankful for the lack of child support bills flooding his house every month, but he was not intelligent, and therefore not thankful.

"You know, Ron, you're going to have to learn that temptation is going to come along and bite you in the arse if you let it," consulted Voldemort wisely.

"My mum said something like that to me and my brothers once," mused Ron, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But she stopped after a while."

The former Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Fred pointed out that she'd had seven children."

"Oh. Touché."

"That's what she said."

Their little dialogue would be interrupted by a monster of a man wading up to them. He looked very angry: his face was red, his knuckles were white, and his beard was a little blacker than it had been two minutes beforehand. His muscles rippled in the pale afternoon sunlight, and sweat poured down his neck, even though it was rather cool outside. Needless to say, he looked like he wanted to smack a bitch – or, in Voldemort's case, a bastard.

"All right," he seethed through gritted teeth, "is it true that you turned down the services of my little sister?"

"Um…" Voldemort looked at his shoes. "Which one's your sister?"

"Kelsey!" the man barked irritably. "She told you her name and everything! She's right here!"

A skimpily-dressed blonde stepped forward, tears adorning her cheeks. Ron swooned; Voldemort cringed.

"Yeah, we might've turned her down," he squeaked.

"I didn't!" protested Ron angrily. "It was him! He is very persuasive!"

"Very persuasive, eh?" The man laughed and flexed his muscles. "More persuasive than a knuckle sandwich?"

This was followed by a display involving frantic waving of his fists. All in all, he looked like a chicken trying to take flight. It was not a pretty picture.

"Oh, so _original_," said Voldemort mockingly. He immediately recanted, seeing the man's six-pack bulge through his jacket. "And very intimidating, too!"

"It looks like we've got a wise guy!" the man exclaimed, laughing. "Well, I just love wise guys… and knuckle sandwiches!"

"Hold on!" Voldemort held up a hand warningly. "I'm sure we can settle this in a nonviolent manner. Otherwise, I shall have to utterly destroy your soul and feed your dead carcass to my dragons."

"Right. We'll see about that."

His counterpart sighed. "What can we possibly do to avoid such a situation?"

"Nothing!" barked the man. "You're just going to have to eat…"

"Eat a what?" asked Voldemort dully, wanting to get it over with.

He grinned. "Eat a knuckle sandwich!"

"Oh bother."

"You've had your chances, Mr. Wise Guy. Now it's time for you to eat."

"Dude," said Ron suddenly, realization dawning on him, "that's one hulk of a man!"

Voldemort deadpanned.

The Hulk raised an eyebrow. "What'd you call me?"

"He didn't call you anything!" piped up the eldest of the three, running a hand through his pink hair. "And if he did say anything, it was that you are amazingly muscular and ruggedly handsome!"

"Well, tell him that I'm flattered," replied the Hulk, blushing. His serious look quickly returned. "But I'm going to have to feed you, buddy, first."

"Damn it all!"

The Hulk lunged forward, and Voldemort just dodged his attack. The man was sent sprawling, but he quickly recovered, and Voldemort swore.

"Please don't make me do this," he said quietly. "I really don't want to utterly destroy your soul."

"Don't worry," growled the Hulk. "You won't have to!"

He swung out his arm, hitting Voldemort in the chest. The Dark Lord crashed to the ground, and the Hulk beat his chest like a certain giant gorilla monarch.

Voldemort looked at him dubiously. "Oh Merlin."

It was then that he noticed that the escort – Kelsey – was now conversing with young Ronald. They looked very friendly… very friendly. She was whispering in his ear, and he had lipstick on his neck and above his eyebrow. Although that could have just been Harry.

"Damn it!" He leapt up and towards them, but the Hulk caught him with one gargantuan hand.

"Mwahaha," laughed the Hulk. Voldemort winced at the man's attempt at an evil cackle that he himself had perfected years ago. "You're mine now!"

Ron had reached into his pocket and pulled out a Galleon; the escort reached out to grab it. He tried to recoil, but was unsuccessful. As a result the Galleon was flung into the air, where it spun for an eternity before finally coming down.

On the Hulk's head.

After this much cliched turn of events, the Hulk predictably fell to the ground in slow-motion and with a tremendous thud. The girl screamed. Voldemort shrugged. Ron swore.

The chapter was over.

-

Two and a Half: Politically Incorrect

Okay, so it wasn't _over_, per se. The half-chapter was over, you see. But the Author needed to write more to make up for the insane wait for an update and thus we have this second part. Happy? You, Pointless Reviewer? And you in the back, Dearest Reviewer? What about you, Reader Who Never Reviews? Wait, the Author doesn't care about you. Sorry.

"Where could he be?" wondered Ron aloud.

"Who? Eugendoodle-Smith?" Voldemort shrugged. "Dunno."

At this point our heroine and chronically depressed former hero had approached the two, not having found the mysterious Igor Eugendoodle-Smith on their side of the street.

"We couldn't find the mysterious Igor Eugendoodle-Smith on our side of the street," said Harry.

"Harry," admonished Hermione sharply. "Stop repeating the narrative."

Thank you.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

It's all right. The Author forgives you.

"Whew! Good!" Harry looked decidedly less nervous. "Anywho, we couldn't find him."

Voldemort stared. "You were looking for what, five minutes?"

"We're efficient," responded Hermione proudly. "And besides, it was a long five minutes. Maybe I used my Timeturner and didn't tell you."

"Oh." Ron looked confused. "Wait a second, I thought you turned in your Timeturner!"

"Shut up, Ron."

"Well, seeing as you two are the laziest heroine and chronically depressed former hero to ever walk the Earth, I guess we'll have to work together!" piped up Voldie brightly. He narrowed his eyebrows. "Hey, Author! Don't call me Voldie!"

A fire hydrant exploded near him.

"That was just a coincidence. I'm not scared of you!"

Suddenly a girl walking nearby them dropped dead. Pure coincidence, of course.

He recoiled. "On second thought, I rather like the name. It suits my tastes, I think."

Good. Now let's continue.

"So," Voldie stated, "as I was saying, you two are incredibly lazy."

"We're not lazy!" protested Harry angrily. "We're just… energetically challenged!"

"Oh. That's _so_ much better."

"Well," huffed Hermione huffily, "is there anything you know about Mr. Eugendoodle-Smith that would help us find him, Tommy?"

"Er…" Voldie stroked his chin thoughtfully. "He likes crowded places. I think he might be a cannibal."

"So he's checking out his next meal?"

"Probably."

They looked all around the area for a place that might be crowded. There was a nightclub with a line out the door, an amusement park with a line out of the city, and also some kind of sports stadium that had "WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP GAME" written on its sign and was very loud. And then there was some building housing polls of some kind that looked rather empty.

"Hm… it's a tough decision," Hermione murmured. She brightened up. "Oh, I know! It must be the polling place! Everyone loves voting! It's a civil responsibility!"

"Oh, please." Voldemort crossed his arms and sighed. "No one votes any more. That was possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Just look at the other places!"

She scowled. "Go to hell!"

"Oh, I've heard Hell is great fun. From what my sources tell me, it's mostly made up of lawyers, rock stars, and liberals. Guys such as Bruce Springsteen are just considered a two-for-one."

"Shut up." She glared at the others. "So… polling place it is, then?"

Harry and Ron paled in her wake.

"Yes," they agreed. "Bright idea!"

"As I suspected!" She sneered smugly at Voldemort. "Who's the fool now?"

And so they trudged into the polling place. It was rather old and stale – it may have been a school or something of the sort, but the Author is tired and lazy and really doesn't give a damn. But anywho, they trudged on in and did something or another. The Author doesn't know. He's tired. Let's just say they looked around. Yeah, that sounds good. They looked around.

"Hm," Harry remarked quietly, wary of Hermione's fury. "It's… empty."

"Don't say that, Harry," Ron corrected him. This would be the only time Ron would correct anybody at any point in his sad little life. "It's not empty. It's capacity challenged."

Voldemort snorted. "Oh, nice call, brainiac. _Who's the fool now?_"

"Hush." Hermione tugged at her sleeves and glanced around the room conspicuously. "Merlin, this place _is_ empty."

"Mmhm," Harry agreed intelligently.

"Hold on!" Hermione suddenly ducked low as if she were under attack by some mysterious force. Her eyes darted around the room, and she, in all of her paranoia, looked oddly like an incumbent politician. "This explains everything! I've always wondered how such idiots get elected into the government – it's because they're the only ones that actually vote!"

"No," said Voldemort solemnly, "that's just the election process. It's completely messed up all over the world."

"Oh. Damn."

"Hey, you guys," Harry said excitedly, pointing to a corner of the room. "Look! Someone's actually voting!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, that guy's eighty-five at the least. He probably can't even remember who's running. Or what they're running for, for that matter."

"Heh," Ron giggled. "You said 'for' twice in a row. That was crappy writing by the Author!"

The old man voting in the corner dropped dead all of a sudden with a look of terror on his face… really scary terror. That shut the boy's mouth.

"Ron!" hissed Hermione, flustered. "Don't insult the Author! You just killed a guy!"

"I didn't kill a guy!" Ron protested. He scratched the back of his neck. "The Author did!"

Harry nodded fervently. "That bastard!"

A healthy young man walking in the door also dropped dead with a look of terror… scarier terror. Our heroes were suddenly very silent.

"Well," said Hermione, gulping. "Let's vote, shall we? I mean, we're already here. Why not?"

Voldemort was doubtful. "But what about registering and such? I don't even know who's running!"

Suddenly a great whip of fire materialized in the middle of the room. It lashed itself into the ground elegantly, and a few seconds later these words were burnt into the floor:

_THE AUTHOR DOESN'T REALLY WANT TO WRITE ABOUT YOU IDIOTS REGISTERING AND SUCH. SO LET'S JUST PRETEND THAT EVERYONE IS REGISTERED AND WE ACTUALLY KNOW WHO'S RUNNING, MMKAY?_

"Good God!" exclaimed one of the people working the polling place. "Some dude just emblazoned words into our floor! I'm going to call the cops!"

Basically you get the gist of what happens here. Of course, what if the Author chose not to kill him? That would be a surprise! Maybe he didn't. Maybe the Author didn't feel like it.

…

Okay, the Author gives up. That guy definitely kicked the bucket.

Another death later, the group was ready to illegally vote in an election that they knew nothing about.

"I'm scared, Tommy," Ron whimpered. "I don't know what to vote for! I don't know anything about abortion or stem cell research or other important moral topics in today's society!"

"Ron, it's okay," Voldemort assured him as he clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Just remember: all political decisions, especially when dealing with something like abortion, should be firmly rooted in science. Unless you're conservative."

"Oh. Okay." Ron looked up. "Wait – I don't know anything about science either."

"Oh." He shrugged. "In that case, just choose the name that sounds the funniest."

So our four heroes stepped up to four different booths. Not to say they weren't talking or anything.

"Hm," Harry called out. "I can't remember… Prime Minister isn't very important, right?"

Ron scribbled on his sheet. "I don't think so. I believe it's a chef of some kind."

"Ah. I see." Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully. "What's a George Bush?"

"I believe that it is an ancient bush used by Asian pastoral nomads to feed their herds."

"Got it. Thanks, chum."

"Wait a bloody minute!" cried Hermione, saying "bloody" and thus making this fic appear authentically British. "Why the hell are we voting for the President of the United States? And the Queen of Britain? You can't vote for someone to be queen!"

"Let me check," Voldemort stated calmly, checking his sheet. "Oh, here, at the top of the page. It says something:

'_FIRST ANNUAL SUPER-DUPER ELECTIONS! – brought to you by MegaCorp._

_A brave new step in a brave new direction, the first annual Super-Duper Elections hope to establish one thing: super-duperness! By enabling people all over the world to vote for positions that don't really matter to them, we will establish a fair society everywhere! Also, although it is merely 1997, you – yes, YOU! – are able to vote for a candidate in a position (George Bush, future president) that really won't even be voted for until three years from now – or even seven years from now!_

_Ha, ha, ha. Yes. Well, it's very exciting. So, go ahead, vote. And have a super-duper day!_

_Lots of love,_

_The World (sponsored by MegaCorp)'_

"Well," he muttered. "That's…"

"Flamboyant?" giggled Harry.

"Obnoxious?" shouted Hermione.

"Obsequious?" whimpered Ron.

"I was actually going for 'interesting', but good guesses."

The rest of the voting process passed in silence. As soon as they all were finished, they gave their ballots to a worker at the front.

"First time voting?" the worker asked kindly.

"Yep," said Ron. He appeared to be worried. "You're going to take care of our ballots, right?"

"Don't worry, chief," laughed the worker. "I worked Florida during the 2000 presidential elections. I've got this covered."

True to his Floridian roots, the worker dumped their ballots into a garbage bin as soon as they weren't looking.

But they didn't suspect this. Happy, they turned to leave the building. But to their surprise, Voldemort suddenly shouted out.

"Great galloping gargoyles of Greenland!" he yelled. "Look! It's my old friend and comrade, Igor Eugendoodle-Smith!"

There was a shabbily dressed man where he was pointing. The man didn't look fazed.

"I've literally been here the entire time that you have."

"That's beside the point now, eh, Igor?" Voldemort said happily, slapping Eugendoodle-Smith on the back. "We're together again!"

"Stop – that makes us sound like ex-lovers." Eugendoodle-Smith shivered. "So, Voldemort, what's been goin' on? Still evil?"

"Nah, I'm repenting. And don't call me 'Voldemort'. I'm not evil any more."

"No prob, Voldude."

"Don't call me that. I'm not a stoner any more, either."

"Sorry."

"Mr. Eugendoodle-Smith!" cried out Hermione, breaking up the odd little exchange. "We require your assistance in locating someone!"

"Locating someone?" Eugendoodle-Smith struck a dramatic pose. "Well, you've come to the right person… dude."


	3. Netspeaking of Which And an Interlude

ok guyz... i'm back!

LOLOLOL.

anywayz, i'm sorry 4 da wait again!1134!1 My bad guyz!1011mehoymemoy!davidspade!

oh, and thanx to all my co0l reviewers! you guyz get hugs! lololol. and cookies. roflmao.

Uhm, ok... basikally dis chapter is about... ah crap i dont no! lol ya i do but i suck at summaryz. just read 4 urself!

LOL

OL

L

LOL!1111!1!ELEVENTY!

DiScLaImEr: I DoN't OwN hArRy PoTtEr! Lol

* * *

Netspeaking of Which (And the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow)

- - -

In an indescribable place, two people were sitting on a bench. One was a young boy – the other was male, but besides that, also indescribable.

"Hey," said the boy, "aren't you the Author?"

The other glowered at the boy. "Yes."

"Do you have a real name?"

"Silly boy," chuckled the Author. "It would be stupid for me to reveal too much personal information on the Internet. That's why I'm completely indescribable."

"Oh." The boy shrugged. "What's the point of this chapter, anyway? Don't you need to go ahead and write the rest of the third chapter?"

"I am, you waste of oxygen," the Author growled, running his hand through his hair – or did he even have hair? Hm. "But it's being rather pesky to write at the moment, so I got bored and started writing this."

"Why are you wasting your time on this? Why don't you just write the third chapter?"

"I just told you that, moron. I'm trying, but it's slow work at this point. But this won't make the wait for the third chapter any longer for any of my oh-so-dedicated readers who grovel at my feet." The Author grinned smugly, apparently unaware that there were no such readers.

"What's the point of this chapter, anyway?" asked the boy. "And why is it called an interlude?"

"Because there's a break in between the action!" he exclaimed irritably. "And the point of this mini-chapter is to introduce a major character – me – that hasn't been introduced yet, only alluded to. Really I thought I'd be introduced earlier, but the fic has a mind of its own."

The boy nodded. "Ah. But is this chapter really going to be the shortest chapter?"

"Yep. It's going to be 500 words, or the shortest a chapter at one of the sites I post at can be."

"But isn't this chapter just kind of an author's note?"

"No! I am a major character in this fic! I must be introduced!"

"Man," breathed the boy, "you've got a bigger ego than the average professional athlete."

"Are you kidding me? Ego?" The Author laughed. "No way. Me, egotistical? I think that's an oxymoron, just like 'US Border Control'."

"Ouch. Harsh."

"Yep."

"So…"

"I think we've still got about a hundred words to go before we can wrap up this interlude."

"Uh, okay." The boy shifted in his seat. "So… croutons – delicious, or an insult to salad?"

The Author bit his lip, thinking. "You know, that's a very interesting question. I myself only eat them if I'm starving, but I know plenty of people who do eat them. But really, who invented the crouton? What is its purpose? The government should investigate this. It's not as if they've already got their hands tied with a deficit that doubles the gross national product of many countries."

"How long is this chapter going to be?"

"500 words."

"Oh. We're almost done, then."

"Darn it. I really wanted to talk more about these –"

-

The boy blinked. "Wait. The scene didn't change."

"Oh." The Author nodded suddenly, as if just remembering something. "Well, it seems that having a 'chapter' like that was kind of borderline because it was kind of like an author's note."

"Hah! Told you!"

"So really that was just a waste of time."

"So that was the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow?"

"Yes. That was the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow."

"Oh. But what about the other sites you post at that would've allowed it? Are you going to keep the scene in for them?"

"Sure, why not?" He grinned smugly for the second time in as many scenes. "My oh-so-dedicated readers will lap up anything they can get."

"Yeah… right."

The Author slapped his hand on the bench. "And now the scene will change."

-

"So, Eugey…"

Eugendoodle-Smith raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Eugey?"

"Your name is too damn long," Ron snapped back irritably. He sighed and flattened the cowlick in his hair absentmindedly. "Anyway, how are you going to find this person that we need to find?"

"You mean the Author, right?"

"Yes," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "But how did you know? We never told you in the last chapter."

"Oh." Eugendoodle-Smith shrugged. "It's quite simple, really. I'm psychic on Tuesdays."

"He sure is," said Voldemort knowingly.

Harry chuckled snidely. "Psychic on Tuesdays? How does that work? Don't Wednesday and Thursday feel left out?"

"Wednesday and Thursday feel left out," Ron snickered. "Good one, boss!"

Eugendoodle-Smith shot a silencing look at Ron before explaining. "The Inner Mind is not to be trifled with or questioned, my young cohort. My Inner Mind prefers to show itself on Tuesdays. Not Wednesdays or Thursdays, and definitely not Fridays. Saturdays are completely out of the question. It also helps that the Astral Plane is slightly less logjammed on Tuesdays. The rush hours during the weekend are horrendous. Everyone wants to call their girlfriend, their mother, their gay cowboy lover –"

"Okay, we get the point," Hermione cut him off. "And nice rhyming, by the way. That was slightly poetic. Oh, and you dropped your drug addict surfer persona somewhere along the line, too."

"Whoops." He looked slightly embarrassed at his gaffe. "Might want to pick that back up again… bro."

"Oh, it's no problem." She smirked the smirk one who thinks they're oh-so-smart smirks. Yes. _That_ smirk. "It's probably the Author's fault, anyway. Poor characterization."

Lightning flashed in the background –

"We're indoors!"

Lightning flashed outside the windows and all the lights flickered out. The CD that had been playing – a certain CD that rhymed with "Fevolver" by a band whose name rhymed with "The Schmeatles" (for outright saying the band's name might somehow violate copyright; don't ask how that works) – stopped playing and everything went quiet.

"Hold me, Harry," Ron whimpered.

"Gladly!"

It was then that the electricity came back on, though. Everything appeared normal…

….

….

…

Hermione glared. "Stop it!"

Sorry. Oh, well, everything appeared normal until they noticed that the CD was playing backwards.

"Harry, stop stroking Ron's cheek – the lights are back on," sighed Voldemort as he scratched the back of his neck. He glanced up and furrowed his eyebrows. "What the hell?"

"_The blood of the innocent shall be spilt_

_When you mess with the Author's bedtime quilt._

_Your stupid submarine is yellow,_

_Hey, Jude was just a good old fellow!"_

"Those last two lines don't even make sense!" Hermione exclaimed irritably. "The singer is just referring to two songs by a band that rhymes with 'The Schmeatles'!"

"_Would you please shut up, Hermione?_

_You're sounding like you're oh-so-whiny._

'_We can work it out,' you say,_

_Help – that day was yesterday!"_

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that time you referred to three songs in two lines. Good job. Really."

"_Thank you for the sarcastic reply;_

_Now, for that, you are going todie._

_Come Together, Let It Be, She Loves You, I Want to Hold Your Hand, Helter Skelter,_

SHUT UP HERMIONE OR ELSE A BIG BEAR IS GOING TO SIT ON YOU AND STEAL YOUR SOUL!" 

"Well…" The prefect blinked. "I'm not even sure if that deserves a response."

"_THANK GOD."_

"Just wondering," Harry piped up, "but what's with the band that rhymes with 'The Schmeatles' and backwards loops and such?"

"_It's awesome."_

"I never really got the point of it."

"_You're clearly not high enough to understand it."_

Harry looked at the ground, cheeks red. "I actually have experimented with a few drugs before."

"_Clearly your drugs don't work."_

"Hey," Hermione huffed, "that's a reference to song by a band that rhymes with 'The Terve'!"

"_You never shut up, do you?"_

"Reminds me of my ex-wife," muttered Eugendoodle-Smith irritably.

"Reminds me of this really annoying guy I met at a gay bar," muttered Harry. "'My ex did this, my ex did that' – if your ex was so great, then why'd you break up? Get a clue, people."

There was a great silence in the room that lasted for some time. This time was used to come up with the next paragraph, and due to writer's block, it was a very long time.

How long? Think of the gap between _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ and _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, both by JK Rowling (please don't sue the Author). You think that gap was long? Hah. Loser. You don't know anything about long. That's not long at all. (That's what she said.)

"Wow, Hermione," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence, "I didn't realize how hawt you had gotten over the summer!"

"Hawt?" she asked, ignoring how blunt that had been. "Don't you mean hot?"

"No, hawt! Or hott! You know, how the cool kids spell it!"

Regardless of spelling, Hermione had gotten quite hawt or hott or hot (or however you spell it) over the summer. Nice, tanned, long legs protruded from her fashionable skirt (only fifty pounds at your local Abercrombie/Hot Topic!), and her makeup really accentuated the rest of her facial features. Her previously bushy hair now flowed in long waves down to her shoulders, and she had the face of a goddess. Her shirt exposed just the right areas, and the lace of her lingerie could be seen if one looked hard enough.

"Damn," Ron whistled, "you be fine, girl!"

"I've got to admit, Hermione," Voldemort piped up, "you do look like a swimsuit model. Did you get implants?"

"No!" she exclaimed irritably. She then batted her eyelashes at them. "But you know, I have been trying to be more fashionable over the summer…"

Harry grinned. "Let's go swimming at your parents' house and snog (author's note: this must be said once in every romance fic just to prove that the author of said fic knows some term that isn't American), Hermione!"

"No, Harry, you and Hermione aren't canon anymore!" Ron wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Let's go back to my place, Hermione, and maybe make ourselves more comfortable."

"No!" Harry cried. "I can give you flying lessons!"

"Oh please! That's so cliched! I can fumble my words in such an awkward fashion that you think it's cute!"

"Oh, and _that's_ not cliched!"

"It isn't!"

Somewhere in the argument Harry's glasses had disappeared along with his shirt. His rippling six pack was exposed (nicely tanned, of course), and Hermione knew that he had gotten such definition from Quidditch (author's note: wtf? How does riding on a broom give you definition?). He was quite handsome.

"Oh, Harry," she moaned, "you're so handsome! You even required an author's note in the middle of the paragraph, you're so hawt! (Author's note: don't you just hate it when there are author's notes in the middle of a story?)"

It was then that she noticed that Ron's shirt had also vanished, and his hair was styled in a wild and sexy fashion. He had the beginnings of a rugged beard now, and his muscles gleamed in the sunlight.

"Oh, Ron! You're just as hawt!"

"Hey," whined Voldemort, "don't I get a makeover, too?"

(Author's note: no. You got the pink hair.)

"Dang."

"Have I just been completely forgotten these last 529 words?" grouched Eugendoodle-Smith angrily.

(Author's note: yes. Deal with it.)

"Everyone," yelled Harry proudly, "come see how good I look!"

(Author's note: that was stolen from the movie 'Anchorman'. Bad Harry. _Bad_Harry.)

"You know," Voldemort muttered under his breath, "all of these author's notes are getting somewhat annoying. They could distract the reader from the plot."

(Author's note: there is no plot. Oh, and this is the last author's note. Bye.)

Ron waved stupidly. "Bye!"

(…)

The group waited expectantly for the next note, not really believing that they had seen the last of them.

(…)

"You know," Hermione said quietly, pain evident in her voice, "now that they're gone I kind of miss the author's notes."

(Author's note: really?)

"Damned thing!" Voldemort raised his wand above his head dangerously, standing like a beacon of terror over all of them. For a brief moment his pink hair turned into flames. Figuratively speaking, of course. "You shall now face the wrath of one hundred readers promptly clicking the 'back' button on the page and you shall get a miniscule amount of reviews! Take that, you over-talkative demon!"

There were no more author's notes. Ever.

The former Dark Lord and prospective World Savior was quite smug. "Ha. Taught that fool a lesson."

"Yeah…" Ron looked at his rippling muscles to Harry's shirtless torso and then to Hermione's defined figure. "Why are we all suddenly so sexy, again? Weren't Harry and I fighting over you or something? And how'd I get a beard?"

"Actually, I don't know," Hermione confessed. For a second the world stopped turning as the populace of the Earth processed this twist. "Er… sorry for not knowing _everything_?"

"Shame on you," Ron said, shaking his head. He sighed, unaware that he was about to act like many characters on Saturday morning cartoons. "And shame on us, Harry. We shouldn't fight like this. Hermione is our friend, and I don't want to ruin our bond over this and lose you and her."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, now completely moral and not in any way perverted. "If she picks one of us, the other should be supportive and all that stuff and completely forget about his purely emotional attraction to Hermione and be content with being just friends."

Ron grinned in a cheesy fashion. "Let the best man win!"

"Yeah, I –"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

Suddenly a blond wizard popped up in front of them, and all of them (even Eugendoodle-Smith, who had gone unmentioned for the last 407 words) groaned. _"Malfoy!"_

"Hey!" the Slytherin exclaimed indignantly, slicking back his hair. Hordes of fangirls swooned around him in the street. "Why doesn't anybody like me?"

"Let's see," Hermione said loudly as she ticked off the reasons on her finger. "You're a biased arse who doesn't like me for being Muggle-born and constantly torments me for that –"

"And you say that my mother's fat," Ron added, "and keep reminding me that I'm poor and my life has little to no value at all –"

"And your father screwed up possibly the most important task I'd ever given one of my servants," Voldemort stated, slightly irritable. "And you couldn't finish Dumbledore, even though you had the chance –"

"_And_ you pretty much make my life a living hell at every opportunity," Harry finished.

"And you are a pretty boy!" Eugendoodle-Smith piped up enthusiastically, happy that he had only gone 147 words since his last mention.

"Well, you've got a few points." Malfoy was about to slick his hair again when he threw a look at the fangirls and winked. "By the way, you can call me Draco. You too, Author." Draco read this sentence and smiled smugly. "Good. Now, where was I… ah. That's right. I was about to proclaim my undying love for the Mudblood."

A vein in Ron's head throbbed violently. _"How dare you call her that!"/I _

"Right. Whoops. I mean Hermione." He sneered at Ron. "I was about to proclaim my undying love for Hermione."

Harry blinked. "Meheh?"

"Are you sure that you were a Death Eater?" Voldemort asked, dumbfounded.

"What the hell?" Hermione squeaked.

"I know, it's a little bit confusing. In fact, I don't really know why I'm suddenly in love with her myself. I think it has to do with the love-hate thing, or maybe the fact that there's a lot of so-called sexual tension." He paused and looked thoughtfully at the ground. "I heard some people say something about the actors being attractive, whatever that means. Anyways, I've brought this Timeturner to go back in time and make her love me!"

"Oh." Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "And you are telling us this so we have time to act because…?"

"Just felt like it," Draco replied. "Had to gloat and all before I inevitably renounce my evil ways and become good and redeem myself and all that junk. I'm trying to beat Snape to the punch."

Ron growled to himself like a wild animal. "Well, Malfoy –"

"Draco!"

"Well, _Draco_, I'm not going to let that happen!"

With unbridled ferocity the redhead dove at the defenseless Timeturner. Draco had no time to react – it was too late already. Ron's hand swiped at it and it went crashing to the ground before bursting into a million little pieces.

"Oh Merlin!" Hermione gasped, rushing forward. "Ron –"

Her cries were muted as she stepped into the dust and quickly vanished. Ron let out a guttural roar; Draco just stared blankly.

"Damn," he said. "Didn't expect that to happen."

"You!" Ron yelled, grabbing him by his shirt and lifting him into the air with previously unmentioned strength. The fangirls watched with great anxiety. "What have you done?"

"Well, in just about every Timeturner fic Hermione goes back to the Marauders' time," Draco breathed, a look of concentration coming over his face. "Don't know why – you figure that _some_ of the time she'd end up somewhere else. If everything goes as it should, she'll probably fall in love with either Black or Lupin. Face it, dude. We're screwed."

Ron dropped to the ground in anguish. "No… it couldn't be…"

It was Eugendoodle-Smith that broke the silence.

"Hey! Only 463 words this time!"


	4. I'm Sure You've Heard It All Before

Four: I'm Sure You've Heard It All Before

- - -

When we last left our valiant heroes (and possibly an anti-hero or two), they had been shocked after Draco had accidentally sent Hermione back to the Marauders' time. Just thought you might like to know before we start the chapter.

"So she stepped in that dust and then just disappeared, huh?" Harry mused.

"Yes," drawled Draco sarcastically, "I think we already established that when she stepped into the dust and disappeared."

"Yeah. That's what I was saying." Harry sighed and struck a heroic pose. "Well –"

"Oh, don't strike a heroic pose!" Ron moaned, obviously miserable. "That's what you did before we went after Quirrell in our first year, and Lockhart in our second year, and Sirius in our third year. And you did that before you went into the maze in our fourth year, _and_ when we went to 'save Sirius' –" Voldemort giggled like a little girl at this, remembering how he had tricked his old nemesis "– in fifth year. And before you went and got Dumbledore killed. So overall the death count is four when you strike a heroic pose."

"That's two times that didn't end in death!" Harry said optimistically. "As I was saying, it looks as if there's only one solution: we must also venture into this magical dust and back into the time of my forefathers. Come, Ronald! It is time to venture!"

Ron shook his head sadly. "Shit."

"Well," said Eugendoodle-Smith, "I think that –"

Suddenly a meteor fell from the sky and killed poor Igor. Our heroes and anti-heroes only noticed this after several minutes.

"Hey," Draco said suspiciously, "wasn't someone standing where that meteor just fell?"

"Oh yeah," Voldemort mused. "Looks like Igor has kicked the bucket." He did not seem at all distressed that his good friend had just died. "Seems that the Author was getting bored with him. He'll probably be resurrected after we save Hermione, and we finally require him to locate the Author."

"Ah."

And that was the last they spoke of Eugendoodle-Smith for quite a while. Good riddance. Damned OC.

"Yeah," Voldemort agreed, "that was a rather annoying OC. He was only good for a few running gags."

Suddenly a nearby squirrel spontaneously combusted, sending blood flying everywhere. Draco whined about how it had ruined his robes, whilst Harry lapped it up eagerly.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Oh please! Even you called Igor a 'damned OC'! Let's face it, it would've been inconvenient to keep him along while we ventured into the Marauders' era!"

This time it was Harry who spontaneously combusted, sending both his blood and the recently ingested squirrel's blood flying everywhere. Ron picked up one of his ribs and wailed.

"You bastard!" he cried. "You killed Harry!"

"Yeah!" Draco exclaimed, forgetting that he hated old Scarhead. "He's a major character! You can't do that in the fourth chapter!"

Before they could even blink all of the bodily parts and blood (even the squirrel's blood) all flew together and Harry was reassembled, looking slightly frazzled.

I was just kidding. But watch out, you good-for-nothing major characters. You could be next!

"What the hell?" Harry muttered, bemused.

"The Author says to watch out," Ron informed him frankly. "Or else he's gonna give one of us the Bitchslap of Death."

"Well, that's not _exactly_ what he said," Voldemort piped up, giving Ron an odd look, "but yeah, that's the general idea."

The Author, fed up at how slowly this chapter was moving along, sent a sudden burst of wind towards our valiant heroes. They all tumbled to the ground and into the dust, and immediately disappeared. This would save many more sentences of tedious dialogue, for which you, the reader, should be grateful.

They finally reappeared in front of a large willow tree, which hung dark and imposing over them. They could see the castle quite clearly in front of them, and the lake over to the side. Several students walked about, but none were Hermione.

"Ah," whined Draco, "that hurt."

"At least you didn't have Ron land on your touchy bits," muttered Voldemort darkly, wincing.

Ron did not appear to have heard Voldemort and instead was already standing, looking at the tree. "Hm… this tree looks a mite familiar, don't you think? I could've sworn that I've seen it somewhere before."

It was Harry who realized what tree they were standing in front of. "Oh bugger…"

Predictably the Whomping Willow gave a beating to our protagonists. With one fell swoop of a bark-covered limb, it sent them flying into the air with great force. In fact, they were sent flying with such great force that they ascended all the way to the seventh floor of the castle and came crashing through the reinforced stone walls. Finally, they settled in a room that looked oddly familiar to Harry and Ron, but not Draco and Voldemort.

"The Gryffindor boys' dormitory," Harry breathed.

"Oy, you gits," said a handsome boy with long black hair loudly, "what d'you think you're doing, crashing through our dormitory wall?"

"Yeah," said a small boy with blonde hair that curled at the ends, "it's not polite, you know."

Another boy who looked quite tired was inspecting the hole in the wall. "You just crashed through a wall of solid stone, you know. I think you may have internal bleeding."

"Come off it, Moony," said another boy with glasses, "they look fine to me."

"Yeah, James is right," said the first boy (the handsome one).

"James is always right," said the second boy adoringly (not the handsome one).

"Wait a minute," Harry breathed, staring at the fourth boy (not the tired or adoring or handsome one – the one with glasses). "You're my dad!"

The handsome boy looked at the boy with glasses. "You hear that, James? You're his dad! Looks like you were quite promiscuous when you were still in the womb!"

"I'm surprised to hear you use the word 'promiscuous', Sirius," said the boy known as Moony.

"Bugger all –"

"Excuse me!" Voldemort declared loudly. They all stopped and stared. "Now, who exactly are you?"

The glasses boy, James, gawked at our former villain. "Mate, sorry to break it to you, but you look like a snake with pink hair."

"You should probably go to the Hospital Wing about that," piped up the small boy.

"And about the internal bleeding," said Moony.

"Who are you people?" spat Draco.

The boys grinned and shared a knowing look. "We're the _MARAUDERS!_"

Suddenly a catchy theme song began playing in the background.

"James!" said a deep voice as the boy with glasses stepped up.

"Sirius!" said the voice as the handsome boy stepped up.

"Remus!" said the voice as the tired boy stepped up.

"That bugger Peter who's going to betray us all!" said the voice as the small boy stepped up.

"You're my dad!" Harry exclaimed, pointing to James.

James just blinked. "What?"

The rest of the evening was spent informing the Marauders of who they were and explaining the situation (except for the bit about Hermione – they had to be quite careful in case she'd already been here for some time). They drank illegally obtained firewhisky (even Remus) and shared stories over a camp fire that had sprung up in the middle of the room.

"Remus here likes Sirius!" James said bawdily.

"Do not!" Remus proclaimed.

"Do too!"

"Ah, come on, Remus!" Ron moaned, getting up. "If you like Sirius, you won't get to hook up with this one chick Tonks –"

"My cousin Andromeda's married to Ted Tonks," piped up Sirius, bemused.

"Yeah well Remus here hooked up with their daughter where we came from."

"Ooh!" Peter spat. "Way too old for her!"

"Ah, it's only twelve years," Voldemort pointed out, "which in modern society it's not too big of a deal, especially when we wizards live to be 150."

"Anywho if you fancy him you won't hook up with Tonks!" shouted Ron anxiously. "He's gonna die anyway!"

Sirius spat out his firewhisky. _"What?"_

"And she's not a bad looker, this Tonks!" continued Ron, ignoring Sirius. "I mean, she can transform and all that even if you don't like how she looks! And even naturally she's got a cute bum and all! If you like him, Remus, you're never going to get to bang that!"

As if to illustrate the point Ron made a lewd gesture that involved him thrusting his hips forward repeatedly. Remus paled considerably.

"You make a good point," he stated, unsure. "If I like him, I don't get to bang a good-looking girl. Point taken. But I don't like Sirius, anyway. There's this transfer student from America…"

"Oh, _God_," Sirius moaned loudly, resting his head against the wall and forgetting about his own self-pity for a moment, "not Rose Crystal. Not again."

"Why not, Sirius? She's brilliant, pretty, nice, an elemental, holds the key to our survival, might be a Death Eater in secret… the list just goes on and on."

"Sirius is jealous," James snickered.

"Am not!" Sirius exclaimed. "Besides, I couldn't care less about Remus or his little Rose. There's this new girl that's pretty damn hot, you know…"

"Do tell more, Sirius!" Peter said eagerly.

James looked at Peter, concerned. "Hold on. Usually we ignore Peter because whatever author is writing a fic about us hates him because he's eventually going to betray us."

Oh. Right. It is done. Peter shall be ignored.

"I don't want to be ignored!" Peter protested, but no one heard him.

"So who's this girl, Sirius?" Harry asked, looking at him with deep, soulful eyes. "Are you experiencing inner pain? Does your heart feel like it's being attacked by a blind gorilla with a chainsaw? Do you want to write a song about it and cut your wrists and black your eyes?"

"I'm not so sure about all that other stuff," Sirius replied, "but her name's Hermione Granger."

Ron groaned and dropped the bottle of firewhisky. Draco swore loudly. Voldemort sighed.

"It is as I feared," he said remorsefully. He rolled up his sleeves and stood, as if preparing to get to work. "We shall have to kill the whole lot! We will leave no witnesses –"

"No, Tommy!" Ron protested, leaping up opposite him. "Don't! We can't!"

"But there are no witnesses," Voldemort argued – it almost sounded like he was begging. "No one will know it was us!"

"Trust me, the first guy they're going to suspect is the snake-man with pink hair. Okay, well, if Kingsley's around, the first guy they're going to suspect is the black guy, and if this were the 21st century, the first person they'd suspect would be one of the Patils." Ron ruffled his hair wearily. "But racism aside… come on, Voldemort. You've been so good lately… you can't have a relapse! You've gotta stay strong, man!"

Voldemort looked at the floor, defeated. "But I wanna have a relapse," he whined. "Kill! Kill, kill, kill!"

"No! Don't kill!"

"Unless it's yourself," piped up Harry. "There's nothing wrong with that, I don't think. I try to do it all the time but it never works, anyway. But my soul has already wilted away and died, so it really doesn't matter."

"That's nice, Harry," said Remus kindly.

"Yeah, real nice!" Draco sneered bitterly, realizing that he had not been an annoying arse for quite some time. "Listen, Black, I don't care if you want to marry this girl! I'm Draco _Malfoy!_ I own practically everything, if you hadn't noticed! Besides, you're going to end up good anyway even after you rot in Azkaban for twelve years. I need Hermione so I can become good and do all that redemptive pattern stuff and become one of you moral pansies! _I need to beat Snape to the whole redemption thing!_"

"But I love her!" Sirius argued.

"So do I!" Ron exclaimed before stopping all of a sudden and shaking his head. "I mean, she's just my friend! She can date Vicky if she wants! I just need to get her back to our time so we can continue this whole sexual tension thing we've got going on!"

"Yeah!" agreed Harry. "I love this whole sexual tension thing they have going on! And the squabbling, too! It's not like it takes an emotional toll on me or anything!"

"See! Even Harry agrees with me!"

"Yeah," drawled Draco. Everyone looked at him, stunned that he had agreed with Ron. "What? I've got to turn good anyway, might as well do it now. And I need her back! I don't care if she goes back with Weasley, I can out-compete _him_!"

"Good point," said Harry.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron indignantly. "I'm very indignant right now!"

Harry shrugged. "Just being honest."

Eventually they all drifted off into a drunken sleep, the issue remaining unresolved because we're obviously headed for some dramatic encounter later in the chapter. Some hours later they woke up (because the Author does not want to write all the boring stuff that happened in between).

"Hey, Harry," yawned Ron, "I just woke up."

"I know, Ron," Harry replied, taking a bottle of firewhisky out of his pants (don't ask). "You've been repeating what the Author has said for your last two lines of dialogue."

"Oh," said Ron, embarrassed. "I'm embarrassed."

"I know. Trust me, I know."

Suddenly the door burst open and there in the threshold of the boys' dormitory stood a glowing Hermione. She was sporting bell-bottom pants (the true signs of a canonical Marauders fic!) and a bright (insert popular '70's band here) t-shirt.

"Hey guys!" she exclaimed brightly. "I'm bursting into your dormitory because the word on the street is that Sirius and Ron are in love with me!"

"And me, too!" pronounced Draco dramatically.

"And me!" said Snape, stepping out of the shadows behind Hermione.

"And me!" declared Lily, stepping out from behind Snape.

"Wait a minute!" James shouted over all the confusion. "Just hold on for a second! There are a few things seriously wrong with this situation. First of all, how on earth would you already know that Sirius and Ron –"

"And me," Draco added.

"– and Draco are in love with you? They revealed that in a drunken stupor only last night! I don't think it's physically possible for you to know! Second of all, how the hell did Snivellus get in here? He's a Slytherin! That's what the passwords are for! And then Lily is neither… _that way_ nor in love with you! She's supposed to fall for me, remember?"

"Shut up, Potter," Lily spat. "I hate you."

"Oh really? Or is that just the love-hate thing we've got going on?"

Lily blushed, her eyes darting around the room frantically. "I'm in love with Remus! I'm in love with Snape! I'm in love with Sirius! I'm in love with Peter!"

"Hold on!" James yelled, wagging his finger. "I can see how you might sympathize with Remus because of the whole werewolf thing, or how you might like Snape because you're convinced that he can change, or that you even fancy Sirius because of his wild image… but I have to draw the line at Peter. This is a Marauders fic, remember? No one likes Peter. He's a back-stabbing rat. Literally."

"I don't believe it," Lily sniffed.

"It's true! I even used a terrible joke like that to prove that I'm serious, Lily!"

"No," chortled Sirius, "_I'm_ Sirius. You're James."

With that Sirius made his required pun joke (may God have sweet mercy on his soul) that must be in every Marauders fic and we may now continue.

"Well… okay, James," Lily sighed. She smiled innocently. "I always have loved you, anyways… as soon as I met you I knew that I wanted to be with you. I knew that I wanted to marry you. I _knew_ that I wanted to bear your children, that I wanted you to shake me all night long –"

"Okay, enough detail!" Remus cut her off. "And besides, that song won't be released until July 1980, so I don't see why you're referencing it here. And this isn't one of those sappy romance fics."

"Oh, I've been a naughty girl, haven't I?" Lily asked in a silky-sweet voice, swinging her hips to and fro seductively. "James, you _must_ punish me –"

"Not a smut fic either, Lily!"

"Back to the point!" Ron exclaimed irritably, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Listen, 'Mione –"

"Horrible nickname, if you ask me," piped up Lupin.

"– I love you, baby. I love you. That's a fact. I love your bushy hair that isn't really bushy at all in the motion picture adaptations, and your braces that were removed in fourth year. I love your petite body that over the course of this fic has become the sexiest thing on earth. I want you, baby. When I'm lonely I think about you and I cry myself to sleep at night, thinking about Krum and all those other guys you've slept with –"

"I haven't slept with anybody, Ron!"

"Oh," said Harry bawdily, wagging his eyebrows, "I know for a fact that that isn't true, if you know what I mean!"

"Just listen!" Ron cut him off loudly. He sighed. "Listen, I know I can be a total jerk and an immature brat, but I need you, babe."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well…"

"But I want you!" cried Draco.

"But I want you!" cried Sirius.

"But I want you!" cried Ron.

A fight quickly ensued between the three, and it was only when Sirius unleashed an anaconda upon the other two with a handy bit of Transfiguration that Remus stopped them. "ENOUGH! Listen, there's only one way to settle this."

"Fight!" Sirius growled.

"Fight!" Draco whined.

"Fight!" Ron agreed.

"Fight!" Voldemort and Harry cheered.

"NO!" Remus shook his head wearily. "We're going to have a sing-off."

James raised an eyebrow. "A sing-off?"

"You know… kind of like karaoke," Remus explained. "Except they'll actually be singing. It happens in many songfics and the singer always gets the girl. But since we have three, whoever sings the best will win. And since we won't use all the lyrics, it shouldn't break any rules of any fanfiction sites or anything, although we're sure we won't be reported if it does, right?" He made a menacing gesture to the readers. That's you guys. Watch your backs.

"And the backup music?"

"Right here!" Harry piped up cheerfully. Suddenly he and Voldemort were armed with guitars (Harry an acoustic, Voldemort a semi-hollow electric – thought you might like to know). Snape was leering at them from behind his large stand-up bass (because Snape isn't cool enough for an electric bass), and Remus was behind a set of drums. "We're ready to go!"

"Er… all right," Ron said hesitantly. "But who's first?"

"I'll go!" offered Draco. He threw an arrogant look over at Hermione. "You're going to love this, sweetheart," he said, looking back to the band. "Okay, let's do this from the top, boys. Two barres in and then I'm starting. Okay, one, two, three, four…"

A piano started playing (somehow James had gotten behind that… don't even ask, the Author doesn't know how) a soft and mournful tune that enraptured the audience, particularly those that had been around in 1983.

"Turn around," crooned the backing band as Draco started:

"_Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming 'round…  
(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears!  
(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by!  
(Turn around), Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes.  
(Turn around, bright eye) _- Ron in particular hit this high note well - _Every now and then I fall apart  
(Turn around bright eyes) Every now and then I fall apart!"_

"So romantic!" Lily said happily. Draco shot her a cocky grin.

"_(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit restless and I dream of something wild… _

_(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms! _

_(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry! _

_(Turn around) Every now and then I get a little bit terrified but then I see the look in your eyes. _

_(Turn around bright eyes) Every now and then I fall apart! _

_(Turn around bright eyes) Every now and then I fall apart!_

"_And I need you now tonight _

_And I need you more than ever _

_And if you only hold me tight _

_We'll be holding on forever _

_And we'll only be making it right _

'_Cause we'll never be wrong together _

_We can take it to the end of the line _

_Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time _

_I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark _

_We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks _

_I really need you tonight _

_Forever's gonna start tonight _

Forever's gonna start tonight!" 

Ron could be mouthing the last line for several minutes afterwards. (It was a powerful song, you must admit.)

"This one's for you, babe," Draco said before singing once more to the sound of James's piano:

"_Once upon a time I was falling in love _

_But now I'm only falling apart _

_There's nothing I can do _

_A total eclipse of the heart _

_Once upon a time there was light in my life _

_But now there's only love in the dark _

_Nothing I can say _

_A total eclipse of the heart._

"_INSTRUMENTAL."_

"Thank you for that last note, Author," Remus drawled sarcastically. "We really needed to know that. And that, of course, was 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' by Bonnie Tyler and all lyrics and music belong to their respective owners – it's a true classic that hasn't been released yet, but still. Well, that's it for Draco because that song's seven minutes long, so Sirius, you're up next."

He walked up to the stage that had appeared out of nowhere, winking at the rabid fangirls that had appeared out of nowhere.

"See if you can spot this one!"

Voldemort started off with a crazy guitar riff that was instantly recognizable to everyone in the room. After two go's the rest of the band joined in to make a wild cornucopia of sound.

"We could've done the acoustic version that he did on Unplugged," explained Sirius before he burst into song, "but the original's a classic!"

With that he stepped up to the microphone and began to sing in a distinctive, almost shout-like voice:

"What'll you do when you get lonely  
And nobody's waiting by your side?  
You've been running and hiding much too long.  
You know it's just your foolish pride."

The rest of the crowd burst into song for the chorus (as no one could even understand what he was saying during the verse):

" Hermione, you've got me on my knees.  
Hermione, I'm begging, darling please.  
Hermione, darling won't you ease my worried mind."

Everyone was too busy chattering to applaud his burst into a distinctive falsetto at the end of the chorus.

"He did not just change the lyrics of 'Layla' by Eric Clapton (all music and lyrics belong to him!), did he?" Draco whispered.

Hermione shrugged. "I thought it was romantic."

"Of course you would, you filthy Mudblood –"

"And now it's Ron's turn!" Remus finished loudly. "Okay, Ron, whenever you're ready."

"I'm always ready," said Ron arrogantly, donning a pair of sunglasses that made him look very much like a certain rock god from the sixties whose name rhymed with "Ron Schmennon". As Harry began a well-known acoustic tune (with accompanying cello from Lily), he put his arms behind his back and leaned up towards the microphone, much like a certain rock start from Britain whose name rhymes with "Schmiam Schmallagher".

"_Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you,_

_By now you should've somehow realized what you've gotta do._

I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now." 

"Oh God," moaned Sirius, "'Wonderwall' (by the British band Oasis, all lyrics and music belonging to Oasis and Noel Gallagher). I can't believe he chose that. I mean, at least mine's a classic!"

"'Wonderwall' is a classic!" Harry argued whilst he played the distinctive guitar part.

Hermione shushed them as Ron sang once more and the drums started:

"_Backbeat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out,_

_I'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubt._

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now._

_All the roads we have to walk are winding._

_All the lights that lead us there are blinding._

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how." 

Of course, everyone joined in for the sentimental chorus:

"_Maybe  
You're gonna be the one that saves me,  
And after all,_

_You're my wonderwall."_

All the instruments stopped as the crowd burst into applause (although they did not pick up once more as they do in the studio version, just so you know – the performance was over).

"Ah," Harry said, setting down his guitar and wiping a tear from his eye. "Rock and roll perfection."

The others huddled around Hermione after the instruments had been left carelessly out of their cases for others to trample on.

"I've made my decision," Hermione announced. "The winner is –"

TO BE CONTINUED. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. CLIFFIE! HAHAHAHAHA.

SUCKAZ.


	5. All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back

I know it's been a while, but to satiate whatever readers I have left it's a double-chapter. Consider it your Christmas present (it's the only one you're getting from me!).

Happy holidays!

* * *

Five: The "All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back" LP

-

"Hold on just a minute, Hermione!" called out a handsome, unthreatening man from the corner of the room as a crowd of cameramen closed in around them. "I'm the host of this show, after all!"

Sirius blinked. "Meheh?"

"You didn't know? You mean Hermy over here didn't tell you?"

"Tell us what?" asked Snape icily.

"Nothing," said Hermione hastily.

"Nothing? You mean that you didn't tell them that they're on 'Hey, Let's See How Many Idiots Want To Date Me and What They'll Do to Date Me' hosted by the stunning Brian Supercool?" Brian Supercool winked at the cameras. "We've got it all on tape! And now Hermione will have to make her decision live on national television! Woohoo!"

"What's a television?" Ron asked dumbly.

Meanwhile, at the back of the crowd, Harry was whispering urgently to Voldemort.

"Hey, Tommy," he whispered, "you know how you wanted to kill everyone about 1,661 words into the last chapter?"

Voldemort stared at him with a blank face. "Uh… yes, I suppose. But I've mastered the urge, really it's not that hard –"

"You still want to kill anybody?"

"What? Who?" Voldemort followed Harry's pointed look at the camera crew and the host and quickly shook his head. "No! Not Brian Supercool! He's supercool!"

"But he's a nuisance! Nobody likes reality shows anyway, so it's not like it's any loss for the artistic community. And you know you want to!"

"No!" he exclaimed, banging his head against the nearest wall. "No, no, no! Won't, won't, won't!"

"Do it!" Harry growled, pulling his previously unmentioned hood over his head and drawing out a lightsaber from beneath his previously unmentioned cloak. "Do what must be done!"

"No! No, I won't kill them! I won't!"

"Do what must be done, my protégé! You must feed off your anger! Your anger makes you stronger! Your anger gives you strength! Your anger causes your wife to slap you after you yell at her for nagging you and remind her of that time you slept with her best friend! Use your anger against your opponent!"

"YES! I SHALL USE MY ANGER!" Voldemort yelled angrily, wielding his wand high above him. "DIE, FILTHY INFIDELS! DIE, HORRIBLE REALITY SHOW HOST AND ACCOMPANYING CAMERAMEN! MWAHAHAHA!"

Before the cameramen could even react he was already picking them off one by one with a few well-aimed Avada Kedavra's. Whilst he was distracting them, Harry sneaked up behind Brian Supercool.

"So we meet again, Supercool," Harry stated menacingly.

"What?" Supercool whipped around. "This is the first time we've met!"

"Silence, Supercool! Or should I say… _Superfool_!"

"That doesn't even make any –"

Before he could speak Harry was doing backflips all over the place and with one quick stroke took his head off with his bright red lightsaber, and thus the saga of 'Hey, Let's See How Many Idiots Want to Date Me and What They'll Do to Date Me' ended.

"Thank God," Remus sighed, relieved. "I hate reality shows. Never mind that you just killed around eighteen people in cold blood."

"MWAHAHAH!" CRIED VOLDEMORT AS HE STOOD PROUDLY OVER THE DEAD BODIES OF SEVENTEEN CAMERAMEN (THE EIGHTEENTH PERSON WAS BRIAN SUPERCOOL, IF YOU WERE WONDERING – I'M GOOD WITH NUMBERS, YOU KNOW). THIS PARAGRAPH IS IN ALL CAPS!

But this one isn't!

SWEET!

Yeah!

AWESOME!

Radical!

TIGHT!

Uh… this is getting kind of boring.

YOU'RE RIGHT. GO ON, THEN.

Good.

Suddenly Voldemort ceased his bravado and looked around blankly at the corpses. "Er… whoops. Lost control of myself there. My bad."

"Yeah," said Harry, throwing off the robe, "me too. I shouldn't have murdered Supercool. That was definitely _not_ supercool."

"I think there's a lesson in this," said James in a kid's-show-feel-good kind of way. "Maybe we all just lose our cool sometimes. But we need to learn to control ourselves and our temper… if we want to be supercool!"

They all laughed in fake happy voices and sipped apple juice over the rotting bodies of seventeen cameramen and one TV personality killed by ruthless murderers.

"So, Hermione," said Sirius after he had finished his apple juice and thrown the carton onto one of the cameramen, "who have you picked?"

"Wait right there!"

Suddenly a small man wearing a pink suit had arrived at the doorway.

"Who are you?" asked Harry.

"I'm Molo Fosho," said the man, who was sporting some bling and had one hell of a grill in his mouth. "I'm a hip-hop producer for We Gangsta Records. I have to say, I was very impressed by your performance!"

"Why, it was nothing," said Draco suavely.

"Not you!" he exclaimed before pointing at Harry and Voldemort. "Those two!"

"Us?" Voldemort asked, bemused.

"Yes! It's been quite some time since I've seen two homies so in sync with each other, and more importantly, the music! And the whole mortal enemies thing makes this a dream to market!"

"Hm," Harry said, "I'd never thought about it that way!"

"What about us?" Draco cried, pointing to Sirius and Ron, who were standing behind him glumly. "We're a hot new indie rock band with loads of potential!"

"Pssh, who cares," Fosho said without even sparing them a glance. "Rock is dead! Hip-hop is the new dominant music form!"

"But –"

"Shush, boy!" He grabbed Harry and Voldemort by the elbows and dragged them off down the staircase. "We've got an album to make!"

-

_A few days later…_

Hermione, Remus, Peter, and James sat in the living room of James's house quietly. There was nothing much to do; the last few days had been like this (with the minor exception of that thing involving Hermione, Remus, a hot tub, and a pregnancy test). After Harry and Voldemort had left, then Sirius, Draco, and Ron had followed after them with dreams of grandeur and revenge. All in all it was all very dull.

"Turn on the telly," James said dully. "It's been quite dull around here lately."

"Everything on TV's dull," Remus complained.

"You're dull!" Hermione muttered.

"Dull, dull, dull!" Peter said happily.

"Enough with the dulls!" James exclaimed irritably. "And turn on the damned telly, won't you?"

"Fine," Remus grumbled, obliging. Bright color emanated from the TV set, which was remarkably in high definition, as well, even though there was no such thing in the late seventies.

"Welcome!" said a host with abnormally white and straightened teeth (he obviously wasn't British… ooh, dissed). "Here at Just Another Music Channel, we take pride in our riveting documentaries. We don't need to dramatize; it is the true people behind the music that make the drama. This story is one of the most dramatic we've ever seen, though. It chronicles the story of a group that rose into superstardom only to burn out as quickly as they lit up. But as Neil Young once said, 'It's better to burn out than to fade away.' Maybe he was right. Maybe."

The camera angle changed and the host turned on a dime, smile still in tact. "So with that, I give you a very special edition of 'In Front of the Music'. I present you with… the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz."

"Shit!" James yelped. "It's them!"

"_The South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz started out as a quaint backing band for a singing competition,"_ narrated an announcer.

"As I recall," said the unmistakable of Fosho as he appeared on the screen (in pink glasses and a white tuxedo and matching top-hat), "it was some sort of talent show or something… I don't really remember, I was inebriated at the time and had gone there because a man on a flaming pie had appeared to me in a dream and said, 'Thou shalt go to Hogwarts,' and I did. When I saw them I knew they were the real deal…. They just had this talent. And they played with this togetherness that you just don't see in many hip-hop acts today! And the enemies thing… great from a marketing standpoint."

"Basically," said a blinged-out Harry as the camera switched to a shot of him, "Molo came to us and took us straight to Crappy Roads Studio in London and we started recording right then and there. Some of the first songs were scrapped, I think… I think the only song from that session that made it onto the album was 'Why Don't We Have Sexual Intercourse (You Ho)?'. Some of them were crap, and Molo told us so… but I think that first experience in the studio was very important for us… very important, yeah."

"_To loosen them up Fosho took them to a local bar and bought them a couple drinks over fish and chips. Needless to say, it worked."_

"Ah, I remember that visit to the bar," laughed Voldemort as he appeared. "Molo got us completely hammered and then we went straight back to the studio and recorded 'I Am A Pimp, Don't Make Me Pimp-Slap You' and 'Gay Dude', which actually started out as a cover of some song called 'Hey Lewd' or 'Yay Jude' or something to that effect. After recording 'Gay Dude', one of the engineers offered us some… ah, let's just say a special kind of cigarette, one that would help us relax, if you get my meaning. So we were sitting there hallucinating and everything, and that's when we recorded 'Come Over Charlie And Invent New Energizers'. That's a funny song title. It's actually an acronym, if you look at the first letter of every word."

Harry came on again. "It was about four in the morning when Voldie and I sat down and decided to write a new song. After the night's work, we were feeling pretty confident and somewhat more sober. So he was sitting there with his accordion and I had my keyboard and I just started playing this little riff, and he kept going, 'Hello homie, go', and then I'd say something, and it went on and on like that until we had a full song."

"_That song – 'Hello Homie Go' – would prove to be the band's breakthrough hit. It entered the British and American charts at number one, and soon hit number one in many other countries as well."_

"'Hello Homie Go' was a very important song for them," agreed Fosho. "They were a radical, experimental type of group, but 'HHG' was a big commercial breakthrough that they desperately needed. I sent it to one director to see if he'd be interested in doing the video. At first he wanted to do something 'thrilling with zombies and dance moves' and such, but eventually we decided on just something quite simple. It was just the boys in the studio and in the streets surrounding it with a few friends."

A video began playing on the screen, and Peter scooted in a little closer.

_A boy comes onto the screen, followed by another boy._

"_**Yo homie,"** said the first one. **"What's for dinner?"**_

"_**Knuckle sandwich, loser!"**_

_But before they can start fighting music starts in the background and they are mesmerized. They follow it to its source, where two men are playing a piano and an accordion outside a studio._

_The first (Voldemort) begins rapping:_

"_**Yo yo all my cronies,**_

_**Da name is V-Homie**_

_**You can call me Tommy,**_

_**The very one and only.**_

_**And this is H-Peezy,**_

_**C'mon and take it easy**_

_**This ain't ironic sodomy**_

So please don't tease me!" 

_Harry begins chanting in a low, manly voice, followed by a chorus of Ron and Sirius._

"_**Ronald's up in da spot! (Yeah, yeah!)**_

_**Bilius drinkin' all dem shots! (Yeah, yeah!)**_

_**Ginny's up in da spot! (Yeah, yeah!)"**_

_Quickly and deftly his voice becomes quiet and seductive._

"_**C'mon Weasley, make it hot**_

Girl you know just what I want." 

_But Draco yells out from a balcony to ruin the effect:_

"_**He wants Ron!"**_

_Harry is not amused, and thus he bursts into another verse._

"_**Stupid Mister Malfoy,**_

_**I'm sick of all ya damn ploys!**_

_**You're a rich son of a bitch,**_

But you act like a little boy!" 

_Malfoy glowers while Voldemort continues ecstatically._

"_**Man, Malfoy's lookin' pissed!**_

_**That was one bitchin' dis!**_

_**Target that you didn't miss!**_

_**Too bad for him, he can kiss this **(pointing to buttocks)**!"**_

_Sirius bursts into a chorus in a robotic-like voice._

"_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was**_

_**To Arkansas you go**_

_**To marry ya little cuz.**_

_**Go out into the snow,**_

_**Give disses like Santa Claus.**_

_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was!"**_

_Harry erupts into another chant-like shout to rile up the boys._

"_**Dis is da top spot!**_

_**Give it all you got!**_

_**Da all ya want!**_

Smoke all that – say what?!" 

_Sirius does another chorus:_

"_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was.**_

_**Like Pluto you must go**_

'_**Cause we prefer Mars.**_

_**Talk all your dough**_

_**Waste it in the bars.**_

_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was!"**_

_It's now Voldemort's turn for another verse._

"_**People say I'm insane,**_

_**That egomania's my thang**_

_**I'm a psychotic killer**_

_**But as villains go that's mundane!**_

_**Albus wasn't too bad**_

_**And his death was quite sad**_

_**But can he break it down like 'Thriller'**_

_**And make morals a damn fad?"**_

_Sirius smirks at Voldemort before the final chorus._

"_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was.**_

_**Go go gadget, go**_

_**Inspector says you must.**_

_**Say to do no more,**_

_**Curse him if he does.**_

_**Hello homie, go**_

_**Back to where you was!"**_

The music slowly dies out as the screen fades to black, and the song is over. 

Peter rubbed his eyes. "That video makes me choke up every time I see it!"

"Peter, it's not even sad! It doesn't even have a point!"

Before Peter can respond to Remus, the program has continued.

"_On the heels of the success of 'Hello Homie Go', the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz decided to release their first LP, _All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back_. It would also prove to be a smash success, with several critics lauding them as the best act in hip-hop history. But soon it would all come falling down."_

"I guess – I guess it just really fell apart at once," said Harry. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Looking back, I can't really pinpoint _one_ incident that led to our breakup… it was just a bunch of smaller things that amassed into one larger thing, you know? It was a snowball effect, really."

"_It was after the success of 'Hello Homie Go' and _All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back_ that the group began to disintegrate. Harry met an Irish painter named Fire O'Malley, who would lead him more into avante garde and experimental music, something that did not please Voldemort at all. But Harry would not compromise, even going so far as installing a bed in the studio so that O'Malley could be with him at all times. The stress eventually caused the group to decide to quite touring altogether, and focus on making their next big project."_

"So we started off with this project called _Back You Get_," Voldemort recalled as he lit up a cigarette. "We weren't very pleased with the results. We intended to scrap them, but our company wouldn't let us, so we just pushed them to the side. It was around this time that I really got into drugs and alcohol… Harry and Fire were going strong and insisted on being together at all times, which annoyed me, as we had previously agreed that no outsiders should be allowed in the studio."

"There was definitely some tension in the air," agreed a girl with flaming red hair and a thick Irish accent (and who curiously resembled a certain Weasley girl). "Harry and I were in the glow of love of course, so we were happy, but everyone was kind of wary of us, I think. Voldemort was particularly miffed… I think he felt I was taking Harry out of his life. Harry even wrote a song about it, 'Everyone Around Here Is So Secretive Except For Me and My Kangaroo'. I get the sentiment – Harry and I were so open, while everyone else was so guarded – but I have to admit that I don't quite understand the kangaroo bit."

"_Voldemort finally approached Molo Fosho and convinced him to come back and produce their next album, to try and make it 'like the good old days,' as Voldemort put it. Finally all parties agreed, and the group began recording their next album."_

Harry sighed. "Finally we got back in the studio and it was tense for a while. But then Voldemort sat down at the piano and showed me this song. He just started singing… _'You're so damned arrogant, you cocky bastard… I bet you think I'm singing about you…. I bet you think I wrote a song about you… Damn you and your arrogance!'_ And I thought it was terrific, though I never could figure out who it was about. Basically we rallied around that, and I wrote two songs, 'Maybe Definite' and '(What's the Tale) Nighting Gale?', and from there we just ran with it."

"I remember that originally we were going to call the album _Light Side of the Sun_, but then we decided that was a daft title," said Voldemort. "And then it was going to be _Back In White_, but we thought that just didn't flow well. So we just decided to make it eponymous, and then our cover designer came to us with this great design."

"_The group would be amazingly successful with their new self-titled double-album, _The South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz_, or as it was commonly known, _The Clear Album_. The album was known for its unique cover – there was no cover at all, and the CD was perfectly visible, and thus the name. But the fallout from the album would prove to be too much, and the group soon split up."_

"Our relationship was quite testy for a while there, I must admit," Harry confessed sheepishly. "And then Fire and I broke up right around that time. But what really pulled me and Voldemort together was the post-producing the record company did on our _Back You Get_ sessions. They brought in some wanker who added harps and violas and morse code to our songs and then they released it in the wake of all the hype from our breakup. That just pissed us off quite spectacularly."

"_The album – released under the name _Be You Shall Let It _- would be universally panned and performed poorly in the charts, being seen as the public as overindulgent and bloated. To add to that, their rivals – the indie rock band Rock Is Dead (Long Live Paper and Scissors), started by Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Sirius Black – released their new CD, _Our First Album_, which would top the charts to make it even more humiliating. Thus ended the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz. Their tale is one of woe and of fame, but most of all, fame. And more fame. That's all for us. Have a good day."_

The TV shut off, leaving the four of them mute.

"That was interesting," Remus began timidly.

"Yes," agreed James, "quite."

"Very," Hermione yawned.

"I like cheese!" Peter exclaimed.

The conversation went in this vein for a while, with the intelligent three of the group talking about random subjects and Peter occasionally throwing in arcane statements that they ignored ("Peter spelled backwards is 'retep'!"). Finally, whilst they were in the midst of a fascinating discussion about the new season of "Grey's Anatomy" (OMG OMG MCDREAMY MCSTEAMY! LOL!1!), the door shattered into tiny little pieces before their eyes, and before them stood Harry and Voldemort.

"We're back!" Harry proclaimed, taking a long puff of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his leather boot.

"Buenas dias, bitches!" Voldemort said, throwing his sawed-off shotgun nonchalantly over his left shoulder, inadvertently shooting a man walking in the street behind them ("Damn you, hippies!"). "Who's ready to kick some ass?"

"First of all, it's 'arse,' Voldemort, since we're British – if you say 'ass' we'll get about a thousand reviews saying that we don't know what the hell we're talking about," Remus pointed out.

"Yes," said James in a sagacious voice, much reminiscent of an aristocrat in the middle of the second millennium, "it hath been decreed that 'ass' shall at no time be said in a Harry Potter fanfiction, for it is impossible that 'ass' should be said in Britain. Impossible!"

Remus stared at James for a few seconds before continuing. "Okay, I'm not even going to ask what _that_ was all about… but anyway, what's with the gung-ho action hero attitude? Are we missing something here?"

"Moony, Moony, Moony," Harry sighed, pulling out another cigarette. "All of this rock star crap has made us realize just how much we miss home, our own time. So we're going on a quest to find a time machine that can take us back to 1997."

"Represent!" Voldemort shouted.

"But what's with all the guns?" Hermione questioned.

"Obviously it's going to be a bloody journey," Harry said in between drags. "Every time travel movie has a bloody journey, or at least that one I saw with the Communists did. People are gonna die, 'Mione –" there was a collective groan at this pet name "– and I've accepted that. I'd just rather it be you than me."

"But you have wands!" James protested. "Voldemort, with your wand you're arguably the most dangerous man alive! You don't need any guns! Why use guns?"

Voldemort sneered and cocked his shotgun. "The ladies like a man who carries a big weapon…" There was a pregnant pause as they waited for him to finish his statement. "…Bitch!"

Suddenly they heard voices coming up the drive.

"Is that Ron?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"EVERYONE, GET DOWN!" Harry shouted in a gruff, smoky voice. "TOMMYBOY AND I WILL TAKE CARE OF THE ENEMIES!"

He somersaulted down the steps and behind a bush as Voldemort sneaked behind the splintered doorframe. Ron, Sirius, and Draco came into sight, all talking amiably, yet Remus's protests were silenced by Voldemort's glare.

"On the count of three, Tommy," Harry coughed, tossing his cigarette onto the ground. "One…two… three!"

Voldemort jumped out into the doorway as Harry rolled out onto the pavement, firing away. The three didn't even have time to react before they were brutally gunned down in cold blood before their friends. After several minutes of gunfire Harry and Voldemort stopped and examined the bodies.

"Hm," Harry mused, "seems like we killed the wrong people. Darn."

Hermione and Peter broke down into tears, while James and Remus just looked on numbly.

Finally a booming voice from nowhere spoke:

"HELLO HARRY."

Harry looked around as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. "Who is it?"

"YOU KNOW WHO I AM."

He thought for several seconds before grinning and nodding. "Oh yeah, you're the announcer for movie trailers! I love you, man!"

"TRY AGAIN, IDIOT."

"Um…"

"I AM THE CREATOR."

Peter raised his head. "Jesus, is that you?"

"NO! I AM THE AUTHOR, FOOLS!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" they all said collectively, nodding.

"YOU BOTH HAVE COMMITTED QUITE SERIOUS CRIMES, YOU KNOW."

"Yeah," Voldemort said, "but they'll never take us alive!"

"I DON'T DOUBT YOU ON THAT. HOWEVER, IT WOULD BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO STOP KILLING PEOPLE. THAT'S ALREADY A BODYCOUNT OF TWENTY-ONE FOR THIS CHAPTER."

"We've gotta, Author!" Harry argued, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "We need to find a time machine!"

"AND WHAT DOES MASS MURDER HAVE TO DO WITH FINDING A TIME MACHINE?"

"If we kill enough people we win a time machine!" Peter said happily.

"SHUT UP, PETER. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU TALK AGAIN. EVERY TIME YOU SPEAK YOU MAKE US ALL A LITTLE BIT STUPIDER."

"Sorry."

"THANKS. BUT YOU DO NOT WIN A TIME MACHINE FOR KILLING EVERYONE IN SIGHT!"

"We don't?" Voldemort said, bemused.

"NO!"

"But how will we find a time machine, then?"

"HERE, HAVE ONE!"

And then a big bus fell from the sky. It was a rather futuristic bus with wings and other cool doohickeys as well, but the Author is really too lazy to describe it.

"NOW STOP MURDERING PEOPLE!"

The dialogue with the Author ceased and the three of those that Harry and Voldemort had murdered were resurrected.

"Why'd you just murder us?" Ron asked confusedly.

"We were just trying to shoot him," Harry lied, pointing his cigar to Malfoy.

"Oh. I understand completely."

The five of them walked inside to the other four, and for the next hour they talked about the issue of the time machine over milk and cookies, which Mrs. Potter herself had made. Harry, Ron, and Sirius were discussing something involving a dragon and a rooster, Hermione and Remus were talking about the weather, Draco was bragging to an amazed Peter about his many accomplishments, and James was carving in the initials L.E. to his cookie for the seventy-third time. This was quite productive for all involved, and finally they decided that they would use the time machine, as the Author would never do anything to harm or hurt them. Ever. (The Author is obviously crossing his fingers.)

They voted to decide who would drive the bus, and for some reason the voting came down to Ron and Peter, the two worst possible choices for such a job. Logically between the two Ron would've been the choice, as he had successfully driven Vernon Dursley's car from Little Whinging to London without any major accidents. But logic never prevails in this story, as those of you with a brain may have already figured out, so of course Peter was chosen to drive the futuristic bus time-machine (or, as he called it, "The Magic Cool Bus").

All of them got into the Magic Cool Bus, which to their shock had king-size beds, plasma screen televisions, and even an indoor swimming pool (don't ask how that fit in the bus). Peter strapped himself down into his seat as Ron, his first mate, sat down in the passengers seat.

"Where to, Ron?" Peter asked happily.

"Hold on, lemme get the map out." Peter was quite content to wait, however, and passed the time by honking his horn, which he found quite amusing (no one else did). "All right, found it. Um… what year were we in, 2006?"

"1997, Ron," Hermione said from the back of the bus. "July 1997, to be specific."

"Okay, 1997 it is!" He looked about the dashboard before finding a number pad. "Here we go! 1-9-9-7. 1997! Woohoo! Booyakasha! Lol w00t!"

"Ron, stop it!"

"Sorry."

The Magic Cool Bus spun around suddenly and in a flash of neon and pink they were somewhere else – a city. The buildings were all very futuristic (like the bus) and the cars had no wheels and instead just floated. It was rather like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.

"What the hell?" Sirius muttered.

"Where are we?" Draco whined. "I'm due for a pedicure at three o'clock, you know! When my father hears about this –"

"Hey," Voldemort said, as if just realizing something, "aren't I supposed to kill you for not killing Dumbledore?"

"Er…"

"Where are we?" James asked, repeating what Draco had said.

"The correct question would be 'When are we?'" Remus said with a smile.

"Damn it, Remus, stop it with those all-knowing smiles!" Sirius growled.

"What, I like smiling! And it just so happens that I enjoy smiling in an all-knowing way! If you can't accept who I am, maybe we shouldn't be together!"

Sirius rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Aw, c'mon, Remmy, don't be like that –"

"No!" Remus cried, his eyes wet. "You just trample all over me and expect me to welcome you with open arms and you never think about how I feel and I'm just tired of it!"

"Remmypoo –"

"No! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on my bathrobe and eat some low-fat ice cream as I watch a romantic comedy!"

Remus got up and began to stomp away until Hermione stopped him.

"Hey, Remus!" she called. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you're straight! You fall in love with Sirius's cousin, just so you know."

Sirius's eyes widened and he looked to Remus. "You're cheating on me?"

"I'm straight?" Remus said, perplexed.

"Yeah. I'm not so sure about Sirius here, but in almost every Marauders fanfic he's a complete player and usually falls in love with a beautiful OC."

"Oh."

"Oh."

Sirius and Remus regarded each other for a second before Remus sat down and they stared ahead, expressionless.

"Sirius," Remus greeted in a forced casual voice.

Sirius nodded. "Remus."

James stared at them blankly. "What the hell was that about?"

"That was a special treat for all of the slash fans out there," Harry said knowledgeably. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "They don't know that Remus and Sirius are straight!"

"You all are just odd," Draco commented dryly.

"Hey!" exclaimed Harry. "I take offense to that!"

Sirius glared at his nephew. "Yeah, me too!"

"Ooblegook!" Peter giggled happily.

No one had any response to this.

"Fair point," James admitted.

"Peter, you really know how to get to the core of me," Sirius sighed.

Hermione blinked. "What the hell are they talking about?"

"Occasionally Peter slips into baby-talk," Remus explained with an all-knowing smile (Sirius rolled his eyes). "You see, his brain is actually quite small; most of the area inside his skull is filled with bubble wrap. Over time we've learned to interpret his baby-talk, although we still don't know what to think when he just splurts out random statements in English."

"Oh. What'd he say just then?"

"He said, 'fried chicken and charitable purposes.'"

She blinked again. "Yes… I see…"

"So, when are we?" Voldemort asked, getting back on topic (he received several glares for this).

"Dunno," Ron said. His face lit up. "Hey, a newspaper!"

He rolled down the window and grabbed a newspaper off of a levitating sidewalk. Unfolding it, he displayed it to the rest of the group. Its headline read:

"**FIFTY YEARS LATER, IT TURNS OUT BUSH WAS RIGHT; PEOPLE IN SHOCK."**

"What's the date?" Remus inquired.

"Er… July 19, 2057."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "You hit the wrong buttons on the number pad!"

"Really? My bad, you guys."

"Yes, it is your bad! Now fix it!"

"Okie dokie." He pushed in some of the buttons on the pad again. "Let's see if this works."

It did. Two seconds later they were in London, circa July 1997.

"Good job, Weasley," Draco remarked as they exited the Magic Cool Bus. "You're not a complete failure, it seems."

Ron stared at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Forget that I mentioned it," Draco responded, sighing deeply.

Suddenly Eugendoodle-Smith popped out of nowhere. "Hey, guys! Guess what? It's only been 9,476 words since my last mention! Woohoo!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Voldemort asked.

"Who the hell are you?" Sirius asked.

"I'm Igor Eugendoodle-Smith, an OC!" he said excitably. "I'm supposed to tell you all how to find the Author, but he'll probably kill me shortly because I'm becoming a nuisance to write!"

There was a sudden burst of flame and they saw that Eugendoodle-Smith had spontaneously combusted.

"Thanks," said Voldemort.

No problem.

"What now?" Hermione wondered aloud. "Eugendoodle-Smith was our only connection to the Author!"

"Don't worry, Mudblood!" Draco declared vainly, throwing out his chest and standing up to his full height. "I shall find this Author you speak of, and I shall bring him to us so that you will love me and we will marry and have children, once of which shall be named Bobbert!"

"Er… okay…"

"Hey, guys, look at this flyer!" Ron exclaimed. "It says… uh… it says that…"

"Ron, you're holding it upside down."

"Oh." He turned it around. "It says: 'Poetry competition: prize includes an all-expenses paid vacation to an Authors Conference for you and your friends.' Hey, maybe the Author will be there! I should enter!"

Remus looked doubtful. "Not to be rude, Ron, but I really don't think you're the best choice –"

"Nonsense! Now, leave me in peace to write my poetry!"

They did, and for the next few days Ron was moody and prone to fits of enthusiasm and anxiety in which he would scream out random phrases and act in an eccentric manner before scurrying back to the office he had set up in the Magic Cool Bus and writing. His hair grayed, and he grew a thin goatee and took to wearing a bathrobe at all times, which thoroughly disturbed most of them but thoroughly delighted Harry.

Finally he emerged from his office, beaming.

"I am victorious!" he announced, brandishing an envelope high above his head. "Inside this envelope is my masterpiece, our ticket to the Author! We shall have revenge, my comrades! Do not fear!"

He cackled maniacally before stuffing the envelope in a mailbox, the others looking on amusedly. Several days passed before finally a thick manila folder appeared in the mailbox.

Ron opened it anxiously. "Oh, I can't read it! Harry, you read it!"

"Hey," Sirius said out of the blue, "wasn't Lily in the last chapter? Where'd she go? And wasn't Snape mentioned once at the beginning of this chapter? What happened to them?"

They stared at him blankly and shrugged. Harry read the paper:

"'Dear Mr Weasley – we are pleased to inform you that you have won our poetry competition and the trip to the conference! Congratulations! Enclosed are the tickets and your poem."

He passed the tickets to Hermione and then read the poem.

_I am _

_I am but a _

_Piece of nothingness_

_I am nothing_

_I am but a _

_s_

_t_

_i_

_c_

_k_

_stuck _

_in the ground_

_won't you please pull me_

_o u t_

_and help me or else I'll_

_Be burnt_

_Oh_

_No."_

There were more blank looks from the group.

"Well," James said encouragingly, "that was… interesting."

"That sucked," Sirius said bluntly.

Remus shrugged. "Just shows you that no one really knows anything about poetry."

It was then that a flying limousine appeared outside (hold on, where are we again? Oh, whatever, screw it). Peter giggled and clapped his hands happily, while Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"We couldn't have just taken the Magic Cool Bus?"

No one else was complaining, though, and they boarded the magical flying limo, not even bothering to pack or any of that realistic stuff. The journey passed in one sentence, and soon they had arrived.

They stepped out of the limo to the sight of a humongous dome. This dome was so big that it was like a pimple on the face of Earth (clever, huh?). In front of the door stood two very large security guards that looked like they could kill people just with an unpleasant look in their direction. These security guards were so tough that they got into a fight with the actor who plays Walker, Texas Ranger (it rhymes with Schmuck Schmorris) and won. Now, granted, Schmuck Schmorris was blindfolded, tied up, and unconscious at the time of the fight, but it was still quite a feat.

"Do –" the guard paused dramatically "– you have –" he paused again "– the ticket?"

"I do," said Remus (for no one trusted Ron with the ticket). He handed it to the guard, who looked it over and nodded.

"Very –" he took a breath "– good."

The doors opened, and they were admitted into the dome (which incidentally was called the Random City Convention Center, if you were wondering). As soon as they entered they felt bullets whiz over their head, and they ducked. Shouts were coming from all directions; the dome was a war zone.

"Sacre bleu!" cried someone to their left. "Zese A-mer-icans! Zey are very annoying, oui?"

"Damn you communist French bastards! Damn you to hell!"

There was an explosion, and the Frenchman yelled.

"Oh my God! Zese A-mer-icans, zey have destroyed ze truffles, and ze caviarre! Zey shall pay for zis, as soon as I finish my wine!"

"Fine!" called back the American. "We'll take a break. You'll have your wine and paint a self-portrait or whatever it is you communists do, and we'll knock back a few brewskis and watch football."

"Very well. Shall we continue in, oh, zirty minutes?"

"Yeah, sure, that works for me."

The group made their way over to the Frenchman, who was filling a glass with champagne as they approached him.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, "is this the Author's Conference?"

He fingered his mustache suspiciously. "Yes. Why do you ask, filthy Brit?"

"We were invited here," James answered. There was a boom in a far off corner of the convention center, and he winced. "What's going on here?"

"Ah. I see. You are n00bs," he said, using the appropriate Netspeak spelling. "Very well. As you know, zis is ze Harry Potter section of the convention center."

"We didn't know that," Ron said helpfully.

"I should have guessed," the Frenchman spat back in a poorly written accent. "Well, zings were going smoothly until yesterday, when a war broke out."

"A war?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes. A shipping war. Zey are quite common, but I have not seen one like this since after Order of ze Phoenix." He sighed. "I am part of ze Wolfstar army: we ship Remus and Sirius togezzer."

Remus and Sirius shared an odd look, but the man continued.

"Zat man is part of ze Wotcher Wolvie army; Remus and Tonks, in simpler terms."

"That doesn't seem like it would be much of a fight," Harry pointed out. "Remus and Tonks got together in the sixth book."

To their surprise, the Frenchman merely smiled knowingly. "Yes, but you do not know our army. Zey are very adamant." He sighed. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Pierre. And this," he said, pointing to an approaching woman, "is Monica."

"Hello!" said Monica. She looked at Remus and Sirius. "Oh my gosh, you guys dress up as the characters, too! Your cosplayers!"

"We're not dressed up," Sirius explained. "We actually _are_ the characters."

Monica fainted. Pierre rolled his eyes and began absent-mindedly burning an American flag.

"She is very excitable," he said. "I caught her worshipping a portrait of you two ze other day."

"So is it just Wolfstar and Wotcher Wolvie that are at war?" Hermione inquired, stepping over Monica's no-longer-breathing body.

"No, it is everyone," Pierre said, now throwing darts at a picture of the American Senate. "We are actually quite mild, you will find. And when ze title of Book 7 was revealed, it all just got more violent. Pity, really," he added as he hit a senator right between the eyeballs.

Voldemort casually removed Monica's necklace and stashed it in his pocket. "So what's the worst battle?"

"The battle over me," Draco said smugly.

"As much as I hate to say it, zat is one battle," Pierre replied. "Traditionally ze greatest war has been between ze Harmonians and zeir Pumpkin Pie army and ze Herons and zeir Good Ship army. Harmonians are Harry and Hermione, Herons are Ron and Hermione."

"Damn you, Harry," Ron growled.

"Zat has cooled down after Half-Blood Prince; after Order of ze Phoenix, you would not believe the battles zat were waged. I lost many good Wolfstars in zose battles," he stated glumly.

"Shouldn't there be more girls around here?" James asked, forgetting that he shouldn't know this. "I mean, don't they make up most of the online fandom?"

"Yes, zere are, especially in the slash ships," Pierre responded. "I am one of ze exceptions."

Hermione sighed. "We're looking for someone… he goes by the name of the Author. Do you know how we could find him?"

"You will have to wait for ze shipping wars to end." Pierre sat down and began scribbling mustaches on pictures of the American first ladies. "Originally we were separated amongst our different sites of preference or status on zose sites, but ever since zese wars it has been chaos."

"Then there's only one thing we can do," said Ron confidently. "We have to find a way to get to the Author using the information Pierre has just disclosed!"

"Yeah, Ron's right!" Peter agreed enthusiastically as he began chewing on the leg of the table.

"We have to stop the wars," Remus said simply.

Pierre smiled as he drew a goatee on the current first lady. "Good luck with zat, my pompous British friends. You will need all ze help you can get."


	6. Hello, My Name is Demonterius

Disclaimer: Not mine. And I'm sure as hell not getting any money for this.

* * *

Six: Hello, My Name is Demonterius

-

Yet again in an indescribable place, two people were sitting on a bench. Yet again, one was a young boy – the other was male, but besides that, also indescribable.

"Hey," said the boy, "aren't you the Author?"

The other glowered at the boy. "Yes."

"And didn't we already do this back in Chapter 3? Didn't this chapter start out the exact same way, just with two 'yet again's added in there this time?"

"Yes."

"Huh." The boy scratched his head. "Why are we sitting on a bench? Couldn't we, you know, be on a rollercoaster or something fun like that?"

"No," said the Author. "This is much more serene. And besides, being on a rollercoaster would mean that I would have to write something besides dialogue, like a description of the setting. Everyone knows how much I hate doing that."

"Ah." The boy did something right here before he spoke again (the Author doesn't like having to write actions or setting or any of that crap). "Why are we here again? Does this mean that this chapter has taken an insanely long time to post?"

The Author nodded. "Yes."

"Why'd it take so long?"

"Oh, you know. A computer crash, a faulty memory system of another computer, etc, etc."

"You could write by hand," the boy suggested.

"I could, but I'm lazy and that would require effort," the Author pointed out wisely.

"Oh. Well. Anyways. What do we do now?"

"Wait for the scene to change."

"And when will that happen?" the boy asked.

"Dunno, whenever I feel like writing the next chapter," answered the Author.

"Oh." The boy fiddled around with something or other at this point for a few minutes – I don't know, let's say he watched a bird fly about around them or something like that – and finally turned back to the Author. "Feel like it now?"

"Not really."

"Okay." Several seconds passed. "Now?"

The Author glowered at the boy again. "This is going to get really annoying, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"Damn it all." The Author sighed. "Fine. End scene."

- - -

After their discussion with Pierre the group made their way over to the Wotcher Wolvie base, which was no small feat in itself. Voldemort deflected any bullets coming their way, while James and Sirius Transfigured any rockets into something less dangerous. Originally Peter was helping as well, but he ended up Transfiguring a rocket into a nuke, which caused a scare amongst the group. Fortunately, though, they survived to see the rest of the chapter.

The man that had been yelling at Pierre was in a recliner with a beer in his hand, watching a football game on TV. He glanced at them once and sighed.

"I thought I'd see you all over here," he said. He took a sip from his beer can. "What d'you want? I'm watching the game."

"We need someone's help," Hermione responded. "We're trying to find someone, and the only way to do that is to stop these wars. We need to find someone who can help us."

He turned back to the game. "Good luck with that."

"You know," said Draco suavely, "we're the characters of the actual series."

"So?" the man replied. "What do I care? I don't read. I'm just here for the alcohol."

"Amen," agreed Sirius.

"I read, though," said a girl, probably seventeen or so. "I'm Samantha. I'm General of the Wotcher Wolvie army. Are you all really the characters?"

"Yep," replied Voldemort. "Look, I'll prove it."

He deftly Transfigured the man into a pig. Samantha nodded her approval while Peter clapped overenthusiastically.

"I see. Well, how can I help you?"

"How can we stop these wars?" James asked.

"Damned if I know." She sighed. "It all started with the Herons and Harmonians. After HBP, though, the Pumpkin Pie army was crushed. The wars stopped for the most part, and the Herons took control of the fandom. Recently, though… some of the remaining Harmonians have gone fanatical. Most of them are pretty normal, but some… they're crazy. It doesn't help that the Herons are practically dictators. They've installed a completely anti-Pumpkin Pie regime. The Harmonians started picking off the top-ranking Herons, though, and then everything went to hell."

Remus nodded. "So you're saying that if we get rid of the crazy Harmonians and bring down the Heron regime this will all stop?"

"Yeah," Samantha said. "Probably."

"Okay." Harry rubbed his hands together and smirked. "Show us who we need to bring down. We're ready."

- - -

Fifteen minutes later they were all huddled around a table and looking at a large map of the convention center.

"Okay, so we're here in the south quadrant with the Wolfstars to our west," she said while many of them took notes (not Peter or Ron, of course). "Up in the middle there's not much, just some of the minor ships. That's the main battlefield for the Herons and Harmonians, though – the Herons are to the east, the Harmonians to the west. The Chocolate army's mostly in with the Good Shippers – the Herons, that is. To the north are the nonmilitant Herons and Harmonians, along with some of the minor ships."

"Got it," Voldemort replied, nodding. "Anything else we should know?"

"Not really. The slash shippers worry me, though," Samantha admitted. "They're all pretty fractured right now, with the exception of Wolfstar, but if they all banded together against the het shippers it could get pretty ugly. From what my scouts tell me that could happen pretty soon here – Wolfstar's trying to get them involved so they have backup against us. You need to stop this quickly, or else everything's just going to go to hell."

"Okay." Harry shifted to the right, making a loud noise – he was now wearing a leather outfit that looked like something out of a bad superhero movie. "I think we're good to go. If there's nothing else, let's head out."

After several minutes debating, they finally decided to split up into two teams. Voldemort would lead Team Tommy, which consisted of James, Ron, and Sirius, and Harry would lead Team Scarface, which consisted of Peter, Remus, and Draco. For strategic reasons Peter and Ron were kept on separate teams (if one could nearly kill them all by Transfiguring a rocket into a nuke, imagine what two could do!), and Hermione was left out of it completely.

"But I can persuade them to stop!" she argued angrily. "I'm the one they're fighting over!"

"Precisely," said Remus. "They might end up taking you hostage. As annoying as you can be, that's a risk we're not willing to take. If anyone's going to be taken hostage, it's going to be Draco. He's even more annoying than you are."

"Hey!" protested Draco. "It's not my fault I'm better than all of you!"

"Right." Remus sighed. "Team Scarface will take down the Harmonians, and Team Tommy will take out the Herons. Harry should give us some credibility with the Pumpkin Pie army, and Ron should do the same with the Good Ship army. Once we've got their trust this should be a piece of cake."

Voldemort brandished his wand threateningly. "And if something happens, we can always kill all of them in cold blood."

"Yes. That too."

So our two teams split up, with Hermione staying back at the Wotcher Wolvie base and pouting like a two-year-old. We shall start our narrative of the battle with Team Scarface, because Scarface comes before Tommy in the alphabet and for some reason that seemed important to the Author when he wrote this.

"I'm scared, Harry," whined Peter as they crept behind a large wall of rubble.

"So am I, Peter," Harry admitted. "But there comes a time in a man's life when he has to suck it up and bring down a terrorist shipper regime. It's just part of life."

"I don't think that happens to most people," Remus pointed out. "We just happen to be part of an extremely poorly written parody."

Right at that moment there was an explosion and Draco screamed out fearfully.

"No! My hair! My beautiful hair!" he yelled. His hair was now on fire. "Put it out! Oh God! I put so much work into that! PUT IT OUT!"

Remus did, and Draco felt his hair gingerly.

"There goes that perm I just had," he muttered to himself irritably. "Next thing you know I'll break a nail and I'll have to go get another manicure."

"Ooh, ooh!" Harry exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands together. "Can I go with you?"

"Me too!" Peter said, no longer scared.

Remus held his face in his hands. "Oh sweet merciful Jesus."

HAHAHAHA, REMUS LUPIN. THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR SAYING THIS IS EXTREMELY POORLY WRITTEN. TRY IT AGAIN, BIATCH. SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

"No, I think I'll pass."

DAMN STRAIGHT.

So anyways, the brave Team Scarface crept along behind a bunch of rubble for some time, avoiding confrontation like the courageous bunch of pansies they were. That's not to say that it was an uneventful trip – quite the opposite, in fact. Peter alone nearly managed to kill the group with a faulty spell no less than three times (a new record – usually at two times someone took away his wand). Shortly after this debacle they came upon someone.

"Look, it's someone!" said Peter.

Or should I say… something.

"No, it's something!" said Harry.

Just kidding. It's someone.

"Look, it's someone!" said Peter.

"Aye, that I am," replied someone. She had a long mane of dirty hair that nearly covered her face, and she was hunched over almost to the point of walking on her arms and legs. "The name's… actually, I don't remember me name."

"Bummer," remarked Draco.

"Yeah, it is." She sighed. "I guess ye can call me Prudence of Gottlyhem. Dunno what it means. Sounds nice and noble though."

"Very well, Prudence of Gottlyhem," Harry responded. He stood up straight and struck a valiant pose. "You see, we are on a quest, my dear Prudence –"

"A quest to find the Holy Grail!" Peter interjected.

"Red! No, wait, blue!" added Draco.

"If there is a God in heaven, please, just kill me now," Remus begged.

I CAN DO THAT TOO, YOU KNOW.

"Don't worry, I know."

ALL RIGHT. JUST CHECKING.

"Anyways, as I was saying," Harry continued, "we are on a dangerous quest. A quest that has never before been attempted… a quest that will probably end in the deaths of several members of our team (although those deaths will probably be temporary)… a quest to end all quests."

Prudence of Gottlyhem grunted curiously. "And what would that be, lad?"

"We are here to bring down the Harmonian regime!" he exclaimed nobly and justly.

"Ah, ye won't want to be saying that around me!" she hissed. "I'm a scout for our noble Harmonian government!"

"Oh. Damn." Harry affected the most charming smile he could muster. "Did I mention that I'm _actually_ Harry Potter? I'm not even dressed up as him or anything! Look!" He turned Draco into a ferret and beamed at her. "See?"

"That's mighty impressive," Prudence of Gottlyhem admitted. "I guess I can forgive ye. Why, I'll even make a deal with ye!"

"Really?" asked Remus. "And what would that be?"

Prudence of Gottlyhem grinned. "If ye'll use some of yer magic for my purposes, I'll give ye access to the Harmonian leaders!"

"And what are your purposes?" Draco the ferret piped up in a squeaky voice as Peter giggled.

"I need ye to get me –" she leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice "– I need ye to get me a big box o' chocolates. I've got a mad sweet tooth, I do."

Remus blinked. "Er… fine, then. Chocolates it is."

"I'll do it!" Peter offered. Draco the ferret bit him in the shin and he cried out, and they were spared from Peter's shoddy wandwork, which would've led to certain death.

"No, I'll do it," Remus said. "Here you go."

A box of chocolates appeared in Prudence of Gottlyhem's hand and she lept up excitedly. "Merlin, ye've done it! I've got me very own box o' chocolates!"

"And now your end of the deal," he reminded her.

"Aye, I was just getting there, lad." She suddenly leapt upward with superhuman strength, grabbing the edge of a slab of concrete and beckoning for them to follow. "Come!"

She continued hopping from broken wall to broken wall as they walked behind her. Every few moments she would begin talking to herself in a low voice and cast a suspicious look back at the group.

"No, my precious," they heard her hiss. "We won't lets the filthy hobbitses take my chocolateses. We won't use the correct form of the plural either, my precious."

"Haven't I seen this movie before?" Harry asked as Prudence of Gottlyhem lept onto the remnants of a stone pillar.

"I read the book," Remus replied.

Suddenly she let out a guttural roar, and a frightened squirrel (don't ask how a squirrel got into a convention center) shot out from behind a wall. She grunted at it as it scurried away and bared her teeth fiercely.

"I think I saw my aunt Bellatrix do that once," Draco the ferret commented, bouncing along beside the group.

"I've seen Remus do that," Peter said.

"Wow, way to keep the whole werewolf thing a secret, Peter," Remus stated dryly. "Thanks. You're a real pal."

Prudence of Gottlyhem turned back towards them. "Quiet, hobbitses! We are upon them!"

They walked up behind where she was crouching, and they saw that she was telling the truth.

"I have delivered you where I promised to take you," she breathed as they gazed at the camp. "The gateses of Mordor."

"The Harmonian camp, you mean," Harry said.

Prudence of Gottlyhem threw him an irritated look and began hopping away, muttering to herself ("Stupid hobbitses…").

"Hey!" Remus called out. "Where are the leaders?"

She sneered. "They're the ones sitting on the thrones, idiotses!"

She soon disappeared into the darkness and they were left on their own.

"Well," remarked Remus as he turned back to face the camp, "I must say that I feel much safer now that she's gone. And I won't have to worry about blatant abuse of grammar anymore."

"Me want food!" Peter blurted out suddenly. "Me is hungerly! Me is starvingly!"

Remus sighed. "Never mind."

The king and queen of the Harmonian camp were stationed, as Prudence of Gottlyhem had said, on their makeshift thrones. The group snuck up to them as covertly as possible, and on further inspection, found that there was no king and queen of the Harmonians – only a queen and another queen dressed in boys' clothing.

"Oy! You lot, there! What d'you think you're doing?" A rough-looking teen boy approached them, chewing a large amount of gum obnoxiously. "That's the king and queen of us Harmonians! You can't just go walking up to them without clearance!"

"First of all, it's two queens, not a king and a queen," Remus pointed out. "And second of all, I just happen to be Remus Lupin, while this is Harry Potter."

"Right!" scoffed the boy. "And I'm Lord Voldemort!"

Peter shrieked in fear at the sound of the name. "No," said Harry brightly, "he's infiltrating the Heron camp on the other side of the convention center."

The boy made an odd face. "Huh?"

"Never mind," stated Remus. He sighed. "But seriously. We really are the characters. Watch." He turned Draco the ferret back into Draco the human ("Haha! Victory at last!") and then back into Draco the ferret again ("Ah, bugger all…"). "We've done that demonstration once today already, don't make us do it again."

"Good one," the boy admitted. "Very well, then. I'll get you some IDs."

"Couldn't you just let us go by?" Draco the ferret asked. "I mean, they're right there."

"No," the boy replied, shaking his head, "we've got a very strict system set in place here. Very strict. Don't you worry, though, I'll be back in a jiff."

A minute later he returned with a permanent marker and –

"Name stickers?" Harry asked skeptically. "This is your strict ID system?"

"Yep. Very strict." The group spent the next few minutes writing their names on the stickers, and Harry handed the boy the marker. "Good. Now, I'll be off. Keep those stickers on!"

"Merlin," Remus breathed, turning around to the rest of the group. He stared blankly at Peter. "Peter, I think you misspelled your name."

"Nope!" Peter said happily.

"Really? I didn't know it was spelled 'Rtepe.' Interesting." He looked to Harry. "What in the name of Merlin is that?"

"My new name," Harry stated. He puffed out his chest so the sticker could be read more clearly. It read:

_Hello, my name is: DEMONTERIUS._

"Demonterius?" Draco the ferret asked.

"Yep. Like 'Imperius' and 'Demonstration' put together. Very unique."

Remus just shook his head. "You know what, I give up. Whatever."

New IDs in hand (or on chest, rather), they approached the queen and gender-ambiguous king.

"Your majesties!" Harry cried out dramatically, swerving into a deep bow. His glasses fell off of his head, and he put them back on as gracefully as he could without coming out of the bow. "I am Demonterius, also known as Harry Potter! This is my humble company of traveling vagabonds!"

"What's a vagabond?" Peter whispered confusedly.

Remus shrugged. "I know what it means, but I didn't know _we_ were vagabonds. That's news to me."

"I think he just likes the sound of the word and doesn't understand its meaning," Draco the ferret added, his furry chest puffing out importantly.

"Silence!" announced the queen (not the king one, either). She did not rise from her seat – instead a number of servants dragged her onto her feet for her and held her in place while other cooled her off with fans. "You claim you are Harry Potter – I see no scar! Show me your proof!"

Harry stared at her. "Um, the scar's right here," he said, pointing to his forehead, where the scar was on display quite clearly.

"Oh." She coughed and was subsequently force-fed a cough drop by a servant. "Well… anyone can have a scar! Show me your magic!"

Draco the ferret leapt upwards fearfully. "No!" he shrieked in a squeaky voice. "Not again!"

"Fine." Harry pulled back his wand and began looking for another target, but was interrupted by the queen.

"Aha!" she cried. "You can't do magic! You're hesitant because you can't do it! I KNEW IT!"

"What?" Harry protested furiously. "I was just about to, but Malfoy chickened out so I was thinking of something else to do –"

"Don't try your tricks on me, trickster!" She was in a rage now. "The king and I have seen your kind far too many times before."

Remus stepped up towards her. "You do know that's not a king, right?" he asked, gesturing to the king-queen, who hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation. "That's just a girl dressed in boys' clothing."

"Nonsense!" the queen exclaimed. "Susan is a king! He told me so!"

King Susan winked at the group mischievously.

"King Susan?" Remus said incredulously. "Wasn't the name kind of a red flag to you?"

"That's what she said!" Peter piped up gleefully.

There was a momentary silence in the camp as everyone stared at Peter.

"Wow," Remus breathed.

"I second that," Draco the ferret agreed.

"Hot damn!" Harry exclaimed.

Peter lit up. "That's what she –"

"Oh God no," Remus cut him off, nearly begging now. "Please. I don't care, kill me now. I can't take this anymore."

"_Ahem_." They looked up at the queen, who appeared quite scandalized at the fact that a conversation had gone on without her involvement. "Now, if you're done insulting my husband, I would prefer it if you leave. Go on, now. Shoo!"

"Let's take care of her now," Harry whispered to Remus. "Nice and easy. A quick curse, show her who's boss."

"No," Remus said sagely, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"The chapter's not quite long enough yet," Remus explained. "We need a higher word count."

"Oh. Right."

"You know," said Draco the ferret, "we could always kill her now and then switch to Voldemort's story. That way we get to kill her and we get our high word count."

"That's not a bad idea, actually. But I think the Author has other plans for the resolution to this conflict. We'll just go ahead and switch over right now. We won't kill her…" An evil glint came into Remus's eye, and he glimpsed upward in a sinister fashion. "Yet."

-

The boy blinked.

"Again?" he asked incredulously.

The Author examined his fingernails with a bored expression. "What do you mean?"

"If there's an Interlude that means that the chapter's taking forever to write."

"That's just silly," the Author said. "Every chapter takes long to write."

"Your last update was in December of 2006! You've had two Interludes in one chapter!"

"Well, this fic's not easy to write, you know." He coughed. "And I'm lazy."

"I think it's more of the latter than the former," said the boy.

"Shut up, you." The Author had a sudden look of realization, and he smiled. "Actually, keep talking. If I can get my word count up with your useless babble then I'll feel like I've actually accomplished something by having another one of these."

The boy stuck out his tongue and crossed his arms, refusing to talk.

The Author sighed. "Very well. I guess I'll just have to start describing scenery and crap now that you're not being cooperative."

He looked about the area. It was a nice place, with nice things around. The air was nice. If you took a deep breath your lungs would get filled with the nice air. The bench was quite ordinary. Ordinary wood, ordinary metal. Not too bad for sitting in. The ground –

"Oh screw it," grumbled the Author. "I hate describing things."

The boy grinned, and the Author scowled at him.

"Very well. Back to the story."

-

Team Tommy struggled right out of the gate. First of all, Ron for some reason was put in charge of navigation. This led to several disasters: at different times they ended up on the roof on the convention center, a polar ice cap, and an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean (don't ask).

Second of all, James and Sirius were constantly pulling pranks on the others and flirting with random girls. Snape even appeared out of nowhere just so they could torment him with several jinxes and tricks (involving green hair, a pink dress, and an interpretive dance). All of these things must happen in a standard Marauders fic, of course. There was even an OC named Tara McDonaldson who Sirius would fight with, both having combustible personalities. Of course, they both fell in love, but alas, she then fell for Snape, and they ran off together into the dark recesses of the convention center, Snape dancing along giddily in his tutu.

"That was a rather ridiculous paragraph," Voldemort pointed out. "I mean, that was just stupid."

Listen, I'm really too tired to kill a squirrel right now or even use caps-lock. So whatever. When I get some energy, you'd better watch out.

"Sure, whatever you say."

You'd better believe it, buster.

They were just walking along peacefully – only a few explosions here and there, really nothing that major – when someone stopped them.

"Halt!" the person exclaimed. It was a girl with a snobbish expression and blood red lipstick. "Who goes there?"

"Tis I, Lord Voldemort!" Voldemort replied triumphantly. "Or Tommy, as I am also known."

"Do you think I'm a n00b? I'm not going to fall for _that_ one." She sneered. "And the rest of you?"

"James Potter, Sirius Black, and Ronald Weasley," James said.

"Suuuuuuure you are. And I'm Hermione Granger."

"No you're not!" Ron said. "She's waiting for us back at the Wotcher Wolvie camp."

The girl blinked before regaining her composure. "Mmhm, sure, sure. Prove it, then!"

"Oh, come on!" Sirius moaned. "This has already happened like 8 times in this chapter! Give it a rest already!"

"You couldn't! I knew it!"

"We can! Look!" Voldemort produced a colorful bouquet from his sleeve. "There! Magic!"

"Any half-hearted parlor magician can do that!" She smirked. "I'm a Good Shipper! I'm too good for your lies! I sneeze in your direction! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!"

James shook his head. "What the hell is with these people?"

"Fine!" Voldemort roared, hoisting his wand far above his head. "I swore once to never kill again, although I violated that vow just last chapter! I didn't want to violate it again, even though it's pretty much moot now, but still, I fear I must! Die, die, die, you elitist bastard! _Avada kedavra!_"

"Tommy! No!"

It was too late. A bright beam of green light shot out of Voldemort's wand, jettisoning towards the Snob. Closer… closer… oh dear me, closer still… the Snob recoiled in fear…

Just before the beam hit the Snob, it stopped. The group stared in collective silence.

"The hell?" Voldemort asked disappointedly.

They soon saw what had happened. Lying on the ground was a dead squirrel. It had clearly jumped in the way to save the Snob's life. That or it had appeared suddenly because the Author was too lazy to think of anything else.

"A squirrel?" Ron said quizzically.

I TOLD YOU, VOLDIE. AND LOOK – ALL CAPS! BOOYAKASHA, BIATCH.

"Damn it," Voldemort sighed. "He's back."

YOUR FACE!

"Touché."

THANKS.

The Snob looked around fearfully. "What the hell was that?"

"Just the Author getting revenge on us," Ron said casually. "No big deal. It happens all the time. Anyways, I think we've proven ourselves."

"Yes, you have," she replied. She poked the squirrel with her foot; it didn't move. "That squirrel's pretty dead."

"Yep," agreed Sirius. "So, anyway, we need to find the Heron camp. Can you help us, then?"

"Or else," Voldemort added threateningly.

The Snob smirked once more. "Of course. I'm the leader of the Herons!"

"Really?" Ron exclaimed, his face eager. "I'm Ron Weasley! You must be a big fan of mine!"

"Meh, really, I think you're a bit of an idiot. But you're a sweet idiot, and you go great with Hermione. Besides, being part of the Good Ship is the popular thing to do. Only idiots would go against canon!"

"Hey!" Sirius said. "There's nothing wrong with the occasional fanfic where I come back to life or never die or whatnot! Those are great fics! Very realistic!"

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"What's your name, then?" James inquired.

She crossed her arms smugly. "I am Snobbola. I'm the most diehard Good Ficcer you'll find! Not anything like those delusional Harmonians. Delusional! So delusional!"

She shuddered suddenly, as if the very thought of Harry and Hermione together made her soul die just a little bit.

"Delusional?" asked James. "That's an interesting word choice. You could've also said idiotic, foolish, foolhardy… but you go with delusional. Very interesting. Any place you got that from?"

"I think it was popularized on some big Harry Potter fansite," Snobbola replied, shrugging. "There was a big controversy. Added some more fuel to the fire between us and the Harmonians."

"How are things between you and the Harmonians?" Voldemort asked.

"Not good," she said with a scowl. "After HBP we took control of the fandom. Things were good between us. We implemented a very fair all-Good Ship, no-Pumpkin Pie policy – really, you'd think we had violated their rights or something by the way they reacted! They went crazy! They've brought down at least ten of our leaders in the past few weeks! I'm the 6th Executive Minister we've had!"

"Gee, I wonder why," James muttered. "Usually totalitarian regimes are _so_ popular."

"Yep," agreed Ron dumbly. "That's why the superpowers of the world installed them during the Cold War, only to fight against them twenty years later!"

Everyone stared at him for a moment.

"Well, thanks for the history lesson, Ron," Voldemort said.

Ron beamed. "No problem."

"Anywho," said Voldemort, "we kind of need to get rid of you. You see, we're trying to find this crazy dude who wrote a crazy parody involving us. And the only way we'll be able to do that is if we end these wars and get the convention back to how it used to be. So if you'd just dissolve your regime and disappear and never be seen again, we'd really appreciate it."

Snobbola rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Let me get this straight – you're looking for the Author of a fic you're in?"

"Yup," replied Sirius. "But the part with you and your regime was really the more important part of all that."

Snobbola ignored him, and instead began muttering to herself. "Interesting… possibly… could it be?" She looked to them. "Have you interacted with him before? In the fic, I mean."

"Not physically," said Voldemort. "I mean, we've talked to him through narration a bit, but we haven't actually met him. But there've been a few interludes so far where he's talked with a nameless boy, usually whenever it's taking him forever to write a chapter."

"Very interesting," she murmured. "Self-insertion, perhaps? That would explain their arrival… the Deletion Squad will have to know about this…"

"Yes, very fascinationg," Sirius agreed impatiently, "but we're kind of in a hurry to end this war between you and the Harmonians. Just step down from power, we've got some friends who are taking down the Harmonians as we speak."

She smiled suddenly, and a chill ran down everyone's spine. "Why should I do that? I don't really see how that benefits me in the least."

"It benefits you a ton!" argued Voldemort. "You see, this way you don't get cursed, and we don't have to waste our time thinking of the best way to jinx you. It's a win-win situation, really."

"I still don't see why I should step down. You could try to curse me, but I doubt it would be successful." She smiled sweetly in a way reminiscent of Umbridge. At this point, every reader began to hate her just for being compared to that very unpopular character. "Go ahead and try, though. This should be entertaining."

Voldemort sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "You do not know what you ask of me. Very well; I think a bit of baldness and a few unfavorably placed warts should fix your attitude."

He raised his wand to curse her, but before he could, he let out a yelp of pain.

"Ow! What the hell was that?"

"What?" asked Snobbola, even more sweetly. She was now holding what looked to be a small joystick.

"That – ow! Hey, watch out for the valuables!"

"Oh God, that's not something I needed to think about," Sirius moaned. "If at least he would stop touching –"

"Damn it! Again!" he growled. He glared at the joystick. "What the hell is that, anyways?"

"Just a gift from the Deletion Crew," she replied, pressing it once again and eliciting another yelp from the former Dark Lord. "You aren't the first characters to have escaped from canon, so they prepared me for such a situation."

"We're not the first?" Ron asked.

"Hardly." Voldemort shrieked, and began doing an uncomfortable dance around the group. She sighed. "I wouldn't worry about it, though. Things will be set right soon enough."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" James said.

"Your Author will be taken care of for his transgressions," she stated, still smiling. "And then the Deletion Crew will delete you, and canon will be saved. Don't worry, though – I've heard it's not _too_ painful."

There was a silence amongst the group as they digested this new information. Voldemort broke it with another scream.

"Damn it, will you stop that! I get the point – ah, damn it! Curse you! Curse yo – DAMN IT!"

Snobbola just grinned and pressed the button again.


	7. A Cold Open, A Time for War

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, bla bla bla bla bla. And I'd just like to mention that I got out the longest chapter in the shortest amount of time yet (only two months!). You may bow down if you like.

* * *

Seven: A Cold Open, A Time for War

-

Severus Snape blinked.

"What the hell?" he asked no one in particular.

"Hello, Snivellus!" Sirius chimed in cheerfully.

"Hullo!" added Harry and Ron.

Snape squinted his eyes at them suspiciously. "Another prank on me, Black? Is that how it is? Whatever happened to turning my clothes into a tutu?"

"Dude, that was _so_ last chapter. And besides, I had nothing to do with this."

"Somehow I doubt that," Snape remarked, crossing his arms. He looked to Harry and Ron and sneered. "Nice leather outfit, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor for violation of dress code."

"But you're not even our teacher yet!" Harry protested, leaping to his feet with a large squeaking noise. "You're what, sixteen years old?"

"Yes, but the rules of canon or logic do not seem to apply to this fic," Snape replied. He glanced at Ron. "Five points from Gryffindor from you as well, Weasley."

"What for?" Ron wailed.

"Sheer stupidity."

"Oh." Ron shrugged. "Fair enough."

Snape turned to Sirius and sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, Black, you seem to be the sanest one here besides myself. If you would ever so kindly tell me what is going on, I would appreciate it."

"That's simple," Sirius replied. "Have you ever watched one of those anime shows, or one of those really suspenseful drama shows that always end with a cliffhanger?" Harry began to violently cough something that sounded like _"LOST!"_ Sirius regarded him for a moment before looking back to his archenemy. "So of course before each episode they do a montage or something to inform the viewers of what's going on. Sometimes they even have the characters break the fourth wall and talk to the viewers about what's been going on. So that's what we're doing."

Snape nodded unsurely. "Right… and why are we doing this?"

"Cos the Author says so."

"That's dumb."

Snape's clothes were replaced by a tutu, and he swore violently. Soon a placard materialized, reading:

_Score – Author: 1, Snape: 0._

TRY IT AGAIN, BEEYATCH.

"I think I'll pass," Snape replied. "Nice creativity, though. We definitely haven't already referenced this joke multiple times."

THAN – HEY. HEY. HEEEEEEEEEEY. I GET IT. YOU'RE BEING SARCASTIC. YOU CAN'T GET THAT PAST ME, SMART GUY.

"Oh drat, you've caught me. I thought it would work, too."

NICE TRY, BUSTER.

"All right. I get it." Snape closed his eyes and rubbed his temples wearily. "Can we just get this over with? I'd really like to go back to Hogwarts, preferably sans Black."

"Very well." Sirius looked straight at the previously unmentioned camera –

"Wait a second!" Snape exclaimed. "This isn't a T.V. show! I mean, seriously. This is just dumb."

A crow gave a yelp as it was zapped by lightning and fried. A squirrel next to it stared at it for a moment before jumping into the air and giving a yelp of joy. Sadly, though, in mid-jump it too was hit by a stray bolt of lightning.

SORRY ABOUT THAT. I FORGOT FOR A MOMENT ABOUT THAT WHOLE SQUIRREL MOTIF THING.

"No problem," Sirius replied. "But anyways. As far as the camera goes, I already explained the whole thing with the T.V. shows and the montage and crap, right? So yeah. We're doing something like that. Just go with it, okay?"

"Yeah, Snape," Ron sneered.

Snape shot him an especially icy glare. "A billion points from Gryffindor for backtalk, Weasley. A new record, if I'm not mistaken."

Harry snickered, and Snape turned his gaze upon him.

"I've changed my mind about taking five points from Gryffindor for your violation of dress code, Potter."

"Woohoo!"

"I've changed it to infinity points from Gryffindor, which breaks Weasley's record easily."

"Damn."

"But enough with the pleasantries." Snape glared at Sirius. "Let's just get this done, Black."

"You have no idea how popular that line is in slash fics involving you two," Harry piped up. Snape and Sirius stared at him for several moments.

"Well, moving on, then," Sirius said, shaking his head furiously. "Last time on You Can Call Me Tommy…"

Behind them scenes from the previous chapter played, just like in those T.V. shows.

"Our group learned that in order to find the Author we'd have to stop the shipping wars plaguing the Random City Convention Center, and to do this we must take down the two biggest armies: the Harmonians and the Herons!" At this point the characters disappeared altogether and left only the replaying scenes. "Hot damn! We've been reduced to just a voice-over! This sucks. I feel like a former child actor who now just does the voices for supporting characters in bad dubs of Japanese anime shows."

"Shut up and finish."

"Hang on to your knickers, Snivellus. I'm getting there. Anyways, as I was saying. So, Team Scarhead went after the Harmonians, receiving help from some crazy chick who talked like Gollum. They eventually encountered the two queens of the Harmonians and had decided not to kill them in cold blood – yet!"

"This is exciting! We should do this more often!"

"Quiet, Potter. If I could take any more points from Gryffindor, I would. So keep that in mind."

"Ooh, I'm scared now."

"Why you –"

"My godson's clearly following in my footsteps. I don't think I've ever felt so proud." There was a sound of Sirius sniffling as the king (well, queen, but still) of the Harmonians was shown on the replay. "So. Team Tommy, on the other hand, decided to take on the Heron camp."

"Hey, that's me!"

"No, Ron, that's actually a rock right there. Close, though."

"That's me, then!"

"Very good, Ron. I'll ignore the fact that you were pointing at a picture of a squirrel. But, anyways, Team Tommy quickly encountered the Heron leader Snobbola. Voldemort tried to curse her, but she hardly even blinked, and countered his attack with a mysterious device. She referenced a shadowy group known only as the Deletion Crew, and hinted that deletion might be imminent for our characters, and perhaps something even worse was in store for the Author. With that cliffhanger, and the sake of all of canon hanging in the balance, the chapter ended with a bang! I mean, there was some other stuff with the Author about the lack of an update or something and maybe some other stuff I probably forgot, but that was pretty much it."

The screen disappeared and once more the characters were visible. Snape sighed with relief.

"Thank Merlin that's over. Please don't say we'll have to do that again. If this becomes a running gag… I shudder to think about what may happen."

"Mmhm," Sirius offered. He looked like he was trying not to laugh, while Harry and Ron were in fits.

"What? What is it?" Snape looked around, and then finally down at himself. He gritted his teeth, trying not to explode. "Ah. I see you're admiring another idiotic running gag the Author decided to use earlier in the chapter. The tutu. How nice."

"Admit it, it looks good on you," Sirius burst out in between spurts of laughter. "Really shows off those legs."

"We'll see about that, Black." Snape turned to the camera. "You might want to leave now. You won't want to see this."

The screen faded to Black and the characters' voices slowly faded as well, although Sirius could be heard softly from the distance:

"Ow! Jesus, watch where you point that thing! I mean, really, have some civility!"

-

Remus looked at the other members of his team with a stunned expression.

"I can't believe it," he spluttered. "I thought your stupidity could go no further. I was wrong. That might have been the single stupidest thing I've ever read. There is nothing of any intellectual value in that entire opener to the chapter. That was just plain bad."

THANKS. I'M ALWAYS TRYING TO PUSH THE BOUNDARIES. I THINK THIS TIME I'VE REALLY OUTDONE MYSELF.

"No kidding."

They were now sitting on a conveniently placed sofa in the fringes of Harmonian territory, sipping sodas and rethinking their plans to decapitate (not literally, anyways – "Although that's a good idea, now that I think of it," Harry said) the Harmonian regime.

"Sniper rifle?" Draco the ferret asked, holding up one of the sniper rifles from Halo. Not the alien one (that one sucks, really gives away your position in online multiplayer IMHO), the human one that looks cool.

"No, too cliché," Remus replied. "This'll just turn into another bad action-thriller movie. And besides, no one here's a decent shot."

"Avada Kedavra?" Harry suggested.

"We don't have anyone that could do it," Remus responded.

"I could!" Draco the ferret exclaimed excitedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't do it to Dumbledore, why would things be different now?"

Draco the ferret's chest deflated noticeably.

"Macoroni?" Peter offered.

"No, I don't think acting as chefs and then poisoning their food would work," Remus said, having effectively translated PeterSpeak into something more understandable. Peter didn't appear to recognize Remus's translation, as in all probability Peter really had meant "macaroni" and Remus had just found a way to make it logical so that he didn't go insane from Peter's sheer idiocy. "It would be hard to infiltrate the kitchen to start off with. And who carries around any poison, anyways?"

"My blood is poison," Harry said suddenly. "Snake venom. That's why I speak Parseltongue."

"I thought that was because Voldemort transferred some of his powers to you," Draco said.

"Harry is a Horcrux!" Peter blurted out.

"Oh God, let's not get into a theory discussion right now." Remus rubbed his eyes wearilyi. "Besides, the seventh book's just about to come out. And realistically it probably _will_ have come out by the time this chapter finally is posted."

"Either that or internet spoilers will just ruin the books for everyone anyways," Harry added. "Or maybe it'll be like last time and people will go around shouting 'Snape killed Dumbledore!' at release parties."

"This time around, though, I think people will know that Snape killed Dumbledore," Remus said. "But I see what you're saying."

Draco the ferret sneered at the lot of them. "I don't know about you all, but _I_ for one know what happens at the end of the seventh book."

"Oh really?" Remus asked with a doubtful glance.

"Really," Draco the ferret affirmed.

"How so?"

"My father knows people in high places," Draco the ferret said smugly. "A man of honor such as he naturally learns such things in conversations with other people of the noble class. Not anything like your family, Weasley – is it true that your family goes out every Sunday looking for food in trash cans?"

"Ron's in the other camp," Harry said.

"Oh. Remind me to tell him when we see him again."

"Will do."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Let's get back on topic before you both start making out."

"Snogging!" Harry corrected him. "It's snogging! Not saying snogging is almost as bad as saying ass instead of arse! It's blasphemy!"

"Okay… snogging, then." He gave Harry an odd look before looking to Draco the ferret. "What happens in the final book, then, Malfoy?"

"Oh, it's really quite boring," Draco the ferret remarked breezily. "If I recall correctly, Harry is the heir of Gryffindor, Sirius comes back to life and marries you, Dumbledore was never dead, Ginny becomes the new vessel for Voldemort to wreak havoc upon the population, Neville is actually the person the prophecy was referring to, and I get together with Hermione." If you listened very closely you could hear Ron screaming from across the convention center, although the giggling and whooping of fangirls nearly drowned it out. "Oh, and it turns out it was all a dream and Harry wakes up under the cupboard once more."

"Oh." Everyone took several seconds to process this. "That sucks."

"I suppose so, yes," agreed Draco the ferret. (It's getting really old calling him this. But I'm stubborn, so until he gets turned back – which giving my impatience could be rather soon – he's getting called this. If you don't like it, nanny-nanny-boo-boo. With that mature argument, let's resume the narrative.)

There was a brief silence, but it was broken by Harry. "So, what's the game plan, then?"

"Well, there's always the 'grab a gun and shoot everyone in sight' approach, but that's usually better for video games." Remus shrugged. "Maybe we could infiltrate the hierarchy somehow? Does anyone have any Polyjuice Potion handy?"

"Oh yeah, I carry it all the time," Draco the ferret drawled coldly. "We could use the Imperius, perhaps."

"We don't have anyone here that could do it," Remus replied. "I'm too nice, Harry's too noble, you're too incompetent, and Peter's just a human wasteland right now."

"I love lamp!" Peter giggled.

"Nice _Anchorman_ reference, Petey."

"I could read them poetry," Harry suggested emotionally. He was now wearing eye-liner and lip gloss and jeans so tight they probably were hand-me-downs from Ginny. "I could use my inner pain and suffering to connect with the martyr within their souls and make them understand the importance and beauty of our cause."

He let out a dramatic moan, and Remus stared dumbly at him for several moments before speaking. "Okay, that's it. Malfoy, I want you looking over Harry at all times. We don't want him deciding this world is too cruel and pulling a Romeo on us."

"Yes, because _I'll_ be able to stop him from offing himself," muttered Draco the ferret. "Leave it to the poor defenseless rodent, why don't you. Maybe if I bite him and infect him with a deadly disease he'll reconsider."

"That's the spirit. And technically, ferrets aren't rodents. But nice try anyways."

"Oh, my _soul_," Harry groaned suddenly, clutching his heart. "It aches tremendously. 'Tis a grievous wound that I cannot tend to!"

"Whoa, Frodo, settle down there," Remus said. "I don't know what has swayed you to depression once more, but just stay cool until we can figure out what the hell we're doing. Don't go all Othello on us."

Luckily, it was then that Draco the ferret snapped his fingers (paws?) triumphantly.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Peter asked stupidly.

"How to take care of the Harmonian regime!" he answered.

"Don't waste your breath on him, Malfoy," Remus said. "It's not he actually comprehended anything you just said anyways."

Peter appeared too busy with an involving conversation with a rock to defend himself ("Oh really? And how does this make you feel? Do you think she's trying to hurt your feelings and distance herself from you?").

"Good point," said Draco the ferret. "But anyways. I know exactly what we – or I, I should say – should do."

Remus looked doubtful. "And what would that be?"

"Simple." He puffed out his chest and tried to look suave. "I seduce them."

There were several minutes of laughter at this. They took much longer than the measly paragraph the Author is allotting them but we don't want to embarrass the poor ferret too much.

"Hey, I'm serious!" he protested, red in his furry cheeks. "I can do it!"

A chorus of swooning fangirls proved his point, and he smirked.

"Oh please, everyone and their mother has a horde of fangirls. Even Peter. He's got his fan…rocks." Peter appeared to be serving his rock some tea now. "Um. Wow. Where were we? Oh yeah. But really, Malfoy. You're a ferret. Even if you did, most sites don't allow bestiality, and we're already pushing it as it is."

"You'd have to change me back, you idiot!"

"Oh. Damn." Remus sighed. "I was really hoping we wouldn't have to do that."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I like Malfoy better as a ferret. The thought that I could step on him if he annoyed me is really satisfying."

"What do you suggest, then?" Draco the ferret asked impatiently. "It's not like either of you could seduce them."

They snorted and began preening themselves cockily.

"Speak for yourself," Harry muttered in a low breath. He grinned at himself in a mirror that had somehow ended up in his hand. "The ladies can't resist this. Neither can the fellas."

Remus said nothing and just growled at himself seductively into his own mirror.

"Oh God," Draco the ferret moaned. His eyes widened suddenly. "Oh no. Please, God no. Don't break out the leather. Don't break out the leather. Don't break out the – oh, there it goes. Hot damn."

Harry and Remus were now dressed head to toe in revealing leather outfits and were practicing different poses in a much larger mirror. Peter for some reason was now wearing a gorilla suit. Don't ask why.

"Pettigrew, why are you wearing a gorilla suit?" Draco the ferret asked, completely ignoring that last sentence there.

"I big! I strong!" Peter roared. He beat on his chest several times and grunted at the others warningly.

"We told him _specifically_ to wear leather," Harry sighed. "I don't even know how you could confuse that with 'gorilla suit'. They're not even related phonetically."

"Nice word usage," Remus commented as he flexed his biceps.

"Thanks," Harry said as he smoothed back his hair.

Draco the ferret had covered his eyes with his paws, and only now decided it was safe to peek through the cracks between his paws. "Okay, fine. We'll all seduce them except for King Kong over there. Just change me back already."

"Do we have to?" Harry whined. He backed up when he realized a very angry ferret was stomping towards him menacingly. "Fine, fine! Just don't bite me, you crazy rodent ('Not a rodent,' Remus reminded him)! Stay there! I don't want fur all over my outfit."

He flicked his wand, and where Draco the ferret had been, Draco the human now stood.

"Good!" He looked at his hands, as if to make sure that they were actually there and not paws. "Now, let's do some seducing."

"Psh," Remus scoffed. "We shouldn't have changed you back. You're useless. They're just going to gravitate to us. You're far too clothed."

Harry gave him a desperate look at that last sentence. "Please don't tell him that..."

"You can't outdo our costumes," Remus pressed on. "They're the ultimate in sexiness."

"Oh really?" Draco asked, finally rid of that annoying title. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's time to plot, then."

He sat down for several minutes to plot, and while he did Harry and Remus continued practicing their poses. Peter ran around screaming and shrieking and occasionally bursting into song and dance, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Aha!" Draco cried. "I've got it!"

He flicked his wand triumphantly and whereas he had once been in standard robes, he was now dressed in…

"Oh no," Harry groaned.

"Oh dear," Remus murmured.

"Edgar!" Peter growled at a nearby rock.

"You got it," Draco said, sneering. He was dressed in a Speedo. "Beat that."

"I don't see how I could do that without changing the rating of the fic," Remus retorted. He closed his eyes and turned away as if physically hurt by the sight of Draco in that particular choice of swimwear. "Oh, I don't think I can handle this. Kill me now."

REALLY?

"Actually, now that I think about it, I can probably handle it."

JUST CALL IF YOU HAVE SECOND THOUGHTS.

"I will."

Draco adjusted his Speedo with a wince. "Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But anyways. It seems that we're all dressed – or undressed, I guess. Shall we commence with the seduction?"

"Hold on a minute," Harry said as he applied some makeup to his face. Finally he finished and smiled at himself into the mirror. "There we go. We're ready."

Over at the main part of the Harmonian camp, the Harmonian queen was lying down as servant fed her fresh grapes and fanned her fervently. She glanced lazily over at the King as she finished chewing one particularly plump grape.

"Susan, my dear, pass me the elfish wine," she said. Susan flicked her wrist towards the pitcher and a servant picked it up for her, passing it to another servant who took it for the Queen and then poured her a glass. "Thank you, Susan."

She took a sip from the cup of wine the servant had placed in front of her face and sighed. This was the good life. No canon, no arguments, no bloody Herons –

Something in the corner of her eye distracted her from her narration, though. She snapped her fingers and servants grabbed her by the shoulders and placed her in a sitting position. She snapped her fingers again and they helped her lean forward as she squinted her eyes.

"What on earth is that?" she asked. Several servants turned to look where she was looking.

Over a small hill four figures could be seen walking dramatically in slow-motion, dust kicked up from their feet. As they drew closer, her mouth opened more and more. Two were wearing absolutely horrible leather outfits that revealed far too much, and the blonde one of the bunch appeared to be wearing a Speedo, of all things.

"Stop!" she called out in her most commanding voice. The four teenagers came to a stop fifty feet before her, arms crossed and arrogant expressions on their faces. "Who goes there?"

"It is I, Harry Potter!" cried out one of them, the one with black hair and glasses.

"And I, Remus Lupin!" said another with mousy brown hair.

"And I, Draco Malfoy!" exclaimed the one in the Speedo.

"I see," she said. She furrowed her brow as she stared at their attire. "What is the meaning of your clothing?"

Potter smirked. "We have come to seduce you, my queen. Don't try to stop us. Resistance is futile."

"Uh huh." She had one of her servants crane her neck so she could look at her other servants. "That's it, then. Shoot them. All of them. Leave no survivors."

Potter's face paled considerably. "Uh, that's really not what we were hoping for –"

One of her servants got her attention, however, and turned her neck to look at Susan. Susan, with help from a servant, made a gesture, and the queen nodded.

"Yes, yes, now that you mention it –" the servant turned her neck back towards the foursome "– I do see it. You're right. Servants, I've changed my mind."

"Damn straight!" exclaimed Malfoy.

"Kill only the three idiots in the leather and swimwear," she ordered now. "We have taken a liking to the one in the gorilla suit. Bring him back into our personal chambers."

The gorilla suit man looked at them, and she blew a kiss at him and winked.

"Oh, look at those biceps," she murmured. "So strong!"

Lupin held his head in his hands and groaned. "Oh Merlin, what have we done? This really backfired."

"Silence!" the queen yelled. She looked back to the gorilla suit – oh hell, we're changing the perspective back to our heroes from now on. No more Lupin or gorilla suit man. It's getting annoying. Anyways, she looked back to Peter and smiled. "Now, as I said, take Big and Handsome over here back to our chambers. We'll deal with him personally."

Several servants grabbed Peter by the arms and dragged him off back into the rocks that made up the Harmonian camp.

"And what of the intruders, m'lady?" asked a servant.

"As I said, kill them," she replied. "Now take us back to our chambers. I think you can handle triple homicide without my assistance."

Another group of servants grabbed the couches under the queen and king and hoisted them onto their shoulders, also taking them back into the rocks. Meanwhile, the rest of the servants looked to our three heroes.

"Why'd she have to take Pettigrew?" Draco muttered. "The guy's in a gorilla suit. Doesn't that violate some bestiality rule or something?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "We've got bigger things to worry about."

The servants were now circling around them menacingly. Time was running out.

"Great," Draco whined. "Now what do we do?"

"I don't know." Harry looked frantically from side to side. "I don't see an escape route. They've got us surrounded. We're doomed!"

Remus, however, still looked completely calm. He was actually looking at the servants with some degree of detached interest.

"I've got a question," he declared loudly, and the servants stopped their march temporarily. "How exactly are you planning to kill us?"

This caused the servants to mutter amongst themselves and glance to each other confusedly. "I don't know. Do you have a gun? I don't have a gun."

"You don't have a knife?"

"Why would I have a knife? I'm not a chef."

"I didn't say a kitchen knife, you dolt."

"Ask someone else, then."

"Okay, everyone – does anyone have a knife? Anybody?"

"I do!"

"Good! Good! Now, what kind of knife is it?"

"It's one of those tiny little Swiss Army knives. I use it as a bottle-opener."

"Do you think we could kill the three of them with it?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly sharp. I don't want to get it too bloody, though. It was a gift from my auntie."

"I've got some keys. Do you want to stab them in the eye with my keys?"

"No, I do not want to stab them in the eyes with your keys!"

"Go for the cornea. It never fails. Just stick it in there and –"

"Okay, that's enough," Remus interjected, ending the madness. The servants all turned back to face him. "Let me get this straight – you have no means to kill us."

There was some silence for a while. Finally someone in the back spoke up.

"We could all form a mob and beat you to death! That always works. There's like ten of us, and what, three of you?"

"Yeah!" chorused the rest of the servants.

"Yes, but we have wands," Remus replied. "We could always just repel you that way. In fact, we could turn you into teddy bears if we really so desired. Or turtles. Or really anything."

"Could you not turn me into a shellfish?" asked one of the servants. "I'm allergic."

"Shut up!" said one of the servant leaders. He looked back to Remus. "We're not getting turned into shellfish. There has to be another way we can work this out."

"I'm sorry, there isn't," Draco said maliciously. "Now where was that one man? I want to know if he'd rather be a lobster or a crab."

"No, Malfoy! Let's think of a peaceful solution to this!" Remus sighed and faced the servants. "Let's just get this straight: you've been charged with killing us, yet have no means to do it. To top it off, we'd really rather not get killed. Why don't we just compromise, and you all let us go do our thing. You can tell your queens that you took care of us already."

The servants thought this over. Finally the leader nodded. "Fine, it's a deal."

After this they all became great chums. There were several games and such played by the new group of friends, including but not limited to: football (and not the American kind… that would just be silly), poker (Draco cleaned up at this – where did you think the Malfoy fortune came from?), and backgammon (it's hard to think of a comment for this one). They were just about to sit down with a movie when the queen and king came storming in with their servants, Peter in tow.

"What is this?" shrieked the queen angrily at her servants, who recoiled under the sofa.

"Well, it's a poker table, a football field, and whatever backgammon's played on," Harry replied logically. "And a rather large television screen. Nice place you have here, really. The rent must be crazy."

"Thank you. It's really not that bad, I know the landlord."

"You don't say?" Harry asked, interested.

"Yeah, he's my brother-in-law."

"I wish I had those connections," he sighed. "Property values are just booming in London right now. It's crazy. Do you guys own any property around there?"

"Actually, we've got an embassy down there."

"Really? Where?"

"You know where that drive-in movie theater is? Next to that really old mall?"

"Yeah."

"We're right there. The big box building."

"Oh. That's a nice lot. How much did you get it for?"

"300."

"That's not bad at all. Who's your realtor?"

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Remus cut in. "Let's stop before Malfoy starts yapping about some famous realtor his father knows or how much the Malfoy manor cost or whatnot."

Malfoy looked visibly deflated, as he had been about to do just that. The queen tried to look as angry as she could, but it was easy to tell the real estate conversation had knocked her out of her rhythm.

"You knocked me out of my rhythm!" she cried. She was not a particularly innovative conversationalist, if you hadn't already noticed. "I'm so angry right now! Argh! I'm about to do something dramatic just to prove my point!"

And that she did. She did this in multiple ways: she declared war on a neighboring country, she formed a new state religion, she organized a large parade, and she finished the state financial report while balancing on a log in the middle of a river (while fishing, to boot). All in all it was a rather impressive example of multitasking.

"See?" she said, smirking. She looked very pleased with herself.

"That's quite impressive," Harry admitted. "But can you do this?"

He proceeded to rub a circle on his tummy while patting his head simultaneously. The Author will wait several moments as you yourself stand up and try this.

…

Done? No?

_Yes, I'd like a large pizza, with thin crust and sausage. None of that hamburger stuff either, I hate that crap_ – oh. You caught the Author by surprise. He was doing something else. You're done now, though? You're not? Well, then, go away. Let me finish this. _As I was saying, sausage. No hamburger crap. Eight bucks? You kidding? That's ridic_ – dear God, you'd better actually be done this time. You are? Good.

Now, that wasn't as easy as it seemed, was it? Bet you were scoffing at first, weren't you? You feel stupid now, don't you?

Fear not. The queen felt just as you, and openly laughed at this. However, Harry had thrown down the gauntlet.

"Go ahead," he said as he picked up the gauntlet. "Try it. I double-dog dare you."

Normally she would not have bothered to do so, but he double-dog dared her, and thus she was obliged to try it. She had several difficulties, to say the least. At times she ended up patting her head and stomach, or rubbing her head and stomach, or rubbing her head and patting her stomach.

"Curse you, Harry Potter!" she growled. She had gotten confused by this point and was pinching her arm and scratching her leg. "Curse you!"

It took about two hours for her to get it down. During this period of time our heroes and the servants finished the movie, and had even begun a new poker game. Draco had already won three thousand Galleons from one unlucky sucker on an inside draw (pure luck, really – "If by luck you mean skill!" Draco boasted) when she finally got it down.

"Haha, you evil rat, you!" she cackled. "I've got it!"

And she had. However, she then proceeded to rub her head and pat her stomach as she had earlier, and she swore.

"Damn it all!"

"Ha!" Harry laughed. "Told you so!"

"That's it!" she growled. She made a rousing gesture at her servants. "That's it! Kill them! Kill them all! Spare no one!"

"But we already decided we wouldn't kill them," complained a servant.

"Yeah," chimed in another. "We don't even have a way to kill them."

The queen did not look discouraged by this. "I don't care! Man the torpedoes! Grab an axe! Poison their food! Make them read a bad Mary Sue fanfiction! I don't care, just kill them!"

"First of all, we don't have any torpedoes," said the first servant. "Secondly, not only would an axe be useless seeing as they could just Transfigure it, it's also not here. It's back in the execution chamber, and Louis lost the keys for that."

"Sorry," said Lewis, embarrassed. No one noticed his name had been spelled two different ways in just as many sentences, even the Author. He only noticed when rereading this chapter a week after it was posted.

"As for the food, they're probably not going to eat it now that they know it's poisoned," he continued. "Ron might do that, but he's not here. Peter would probably do it too, but you don't want to kill him. And as for the bad piece of fanfiction… they're already in one, so the seem to be impervious to its effects. I dunno. Our internet's down, but Cindy over there is a terrible writer. We could have her take a shot at it."

"No, don't even bother," the queen sighed. She looked like her head was about to explode. In fact, it was already a foot and a half in diameter by now. Several servants began applying ice and tying a rope around her swelling skull hurriedly. "Knowing your incompetence, she'll probably screw that up and end up writing the greatest piece of English fiction of the last forty-odd years. I swear I hate my life sometimes."

"Are you dark and depressed?" Harry asked as he approached her. He was wearing his tight jeans again, and his heavily made up face was contorted into an expression of concern. "Does your soul feel like a heavy weight that you're just not strong enough to lift? Like you just can't summon the adrenaline to help you out in your time of need? Like all the sports drinks don't work? Like –"

"You know what, that's it," Remus interrupted. "This could go on for days, so I'm just going to cut it off there. Harry, switch out of those jeans and wash off your makeup. Really I don't even know how you changed that fast. I don't know how you keep changing that fast at a whim throughout this fic, in fact. It's actually kind of amazing when you think about it. It's probably a record or something. But it's also incredibly creepy. From now on I'm in charge of your wardrobe."

Harry was already changed back, however. "What're you talking about, man? I'm not wearing tight jeans or makeup. I think you're going crazy."

"What the…" Remus wiped his face with his hand exhaustedly. "Well, now we know you have multiple personalities, and they don't seem to be aware of each other. That's just dandy. This is like something out of an overblown Hollwood psychological thriller. Please don't tell me that you've got another personality that goes around murdering people in cold blood or something."

"Enough, I say! Enough!" The queen looked enraged (again), and everyone turned to look at her. "Now, all of this has made me forget my initial reason for coming out."

"So you acknowledge that your king is a woman?" Remus asked.

"Hold on – what? Oh. I get it. Coming out. Funny, Lupin. We'll see who has the last laugh, just you wait. Keep smirking."

"Fine," he said. And he did.

"Damn you," she muttered. "Anyways, as I was saying. Back when my husband and I were in our chambers with Petey here, he let it slip that you guys were infiltrating our organization in the hopes of destroying us. Now that was slightly irritating, although Petey did voice his opinion that it probably wouldn't work because a super-emotional hero, an ultra-logical werewolf, and a completely prejudiced prick could never work well together. So that was slightly comforting."

"Wow, Pete," Remus commented. "That's quite an analysis there. I never would have expected it from you."

"Muffin," Peter replied. To be fair, his mouth was quite stuffed with his hand, which he appeared to be trying to eat.

"He also told us that another group of yours was doing the same with the Heron camp across the way," she continued. "And that got me thinking. We've already neutralized you all – but the Herons don't know about the spies in their camp."

Actually, they do, but whatever.

"Who was that?" she asked, looking at the sky fearfully.

"Oh, that's just the Author," Harry said. "Don't mind him. Do go on."

She glanced about nervously before continuing. "Well, anyways, even so, if they only manage to distract the Herons – now is the perfect time to wage all-out war! Far too long we have sat in the shadows, content with our little 'surprise attacks'. Now is the time for a true surprise attack – nay, a surprise assault! My fellow Harmonians, the time of legend has come! It is time for war!"

All the servants around her burst into a roar of approval. Of course, only seconds earlier they had complained of not having any weapons with which to kill our heroes, but who needs weapons in war? It's really a rather minute detail.

"So Pettigrew told them all of this?" Draco asked Remus as the servants began some odd war dance.

"I guess so," Remus replied. "He betrayed us, even if he's not smart enough to know what that is. I hope this doesn't set a precedent or start a pattern of betrayal or anything."

"Oh, don't worry, I don't think it will," Draco said.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Remus sighed. "Good."

"Hey," said Harry suddenly, as if a thought had occurred to him, "maybe this war is a good thing. Maybe the Herons and Harmonians will kill each other off and there'll be peace!"

"But they'll probably just end up at a stalemate," Remus countered.

Harry shrugged. "But what's the worst it could do? It'll at least kill of some of them, make our job easier."

"Good point." Remus raised his wand valiantly into the air. "Count me in, then. Comrades, it is time for war!"


	8. Party Like You're Releasing Something

Well, it's been a while (only a millennium or so, really). But, but, BUT… I've got some good news: I'm not going to use that really lame Geico joke right here. See? All better! Also, check out the first chapter if you feel like it – there's a new bit explaining if this fic is AU or not.

Disclaimer: not mine.

* * *

Eight: Party Like You're Releasing Something, Part Two

-

The Author sat at his desk (which he doesn't use in real life, by the way… laptops are a godsend) and rubbed his hands together gleefully (you know, the evil genius kind of gleeful). "It's time to write!" he cackled insanely. "It's been too long since updates! I must update for my plethora of adoring readers!"

This statement was important for several reasons. 1) He'd just learned the word "plethora" from a dictionary near his desk and decided it was his new favorite word, but he really didn't know how to use it and had taken to saying it whenever it seemed marginally feasible ("Pardon me, Mother, but could you pass down the plethora of rolls in that basket there?"). 2) It tells you (the readers) that yes, the Author knows that he rarely updates, but he is such a Bastard (with a capital B) that he doesn't care. And 3) the Author has a plethora of mental issues (see the word usage? Eh, eh?). He did not notice that his latest chapter had two hits (both of which being himself – he forgot that he had the chapter saved on his computer and could just pull up the Word document). Instead, he read the hit count as two million and thirty-six. Don't ask. It doesn't make sense. Just like half of the deaths in DH. (Ooh, spoilers!)

Just as he was about to begin writing the next terrible chapter, there was a crack and a man with dark gray hair and a green beard appeared in his room. "Author!" he cried. "Do not write!"

"Er…" The Author pulled his fingers back meekly, although his pinky was trying desperately to reach the keys. The other fingers quickly ganged up on the pinky, beat it into submission, and took its lunch money. "Okay?"

"Good." The gray-haired, green-bearded man smoothed out his robes importantly. He looked quite silly, really. "Don't say that, you cocky piece of tripe. And before you ask, my name is Jack Sparrow. And no, not _that_ Jack Sparrow. Although I have a case in litigation against the creators of that movie for sullying my good name, don't you worry."

The Author slowly slid his hand into his pocket and flipped open his phone. His intention was to dial 911. However, he did not know the keys of the phone without looking at them and instead dialed 666. On the other end of the line a satanic voice began speaking, but the Author didn't notice. The voice began to get very angry ("I swear, Jesus, if you're prank-calling me again I will bring this straight to your father, you little twerp!") before the Author accidentally closed his phone because he was a klutz. Oh well.

"Tsk, tsk, what a pointless paragraph," said Jack Sparrow, shaking his head. "You really are a terrible author, you know that?"

Yes. "No," the Author said. Liar. We both know we're terrible. "Shut up."

"Stop talking to yourself."

"Sorry." No we're not. "Shut up!"

"So much for not talking to yourself," Jack Sparrow remarked dryly.

"Shut up. This time I'm talking to you." The Author sighed. "Who are you, anyways? What gives you any right to barge in here and tell me I'm horrible?" Besides the fact that we are, you mean. "Shut up! Damn it all!"

"I would be really confused if I wasn't able to read the narrative right now," replied Sparrow. "But I am. I don't know how that works. I'm pretty much omniscient, I guess. And to answer your question, I'm a part of your conscience."

"My conscience?"

"Yes. That or your subconscious. I always get those two confused." Sparrow straightened his cuffs dully. "I'm here because you know your last few chapters have been absolute crap."

"No they haven't!" the Author protested in a hot voice. "I'm quite proud of Chapter Five, thank you very much, and I thought Chapter Seven was up to the ridiculously high standards I have set for myself with my brilliance!"

"Puh-leese. Chapter Five was ebola-infected donkey feces. We both know it. All of the readers hated it. It's probably the most hated chapter."

"Really? How do you know these things?"

"It doesn't matter." It kind of does, but I won't interrupt the flow of the conversation to tell you why. "Thanks, Narrator. And Chapter Seven… that was just odd."

The Author snorted. "And this isn't?"

"No, it just proves you've finally gone 'round the bend."

Finally? We hadn't already? "Oh, really, would you just be quiet?"

"This is actually somewhat funny," snorted Sparrow. "Well, in comparison to the rest of your, and I quote, 'parody.'"

"No it isn't!" the Author protested hotly. He's so easy to rile up, don't you think? "No I'm not!" Oh stop fooling yourself. We both know you've got a short fuse. "I do not! If you don't be quiet I'll write you right out of this story! Don't think that I won't!" Ah, temper, temper!

"Okay, that's just too confusing," Sparrow said, breaking up the inner dialogue. "Stop it."

"Fine. As long as he admits that he's just jealous of me because I'm corporeal." Ooh, big word there, tough guy. I almost don't know what that means. "La la la la la, I can't hear you – perhaps it's because you're not real! You're just a narrator! You don't even have a voice!" Oh great, strike where it hurts. Low blow, man, low blow. "What's that? It might just be a leaf rustling in the wind… I don't know, I can't really hear anything…" All right, that's it, you and me, bub, right here, right now! Put up your dukes! "Sure, but it's not like you can punch me or anything! Bring it!"

"That's enough!" Sparrow shouted. "Now, I don't know how to break up a fight between someone and their personal inner narrator, but if I have to, I'll find a way!"

Well, seeing as your part of his subconscious and I'm his inner narrator, shouldn't you have some control over me? I mean, we're both part of the same guy. Unfortunately for you and me, he's a complete buffoon, but that's beside the point.

"Hm, that is true," mused Sparrow. He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not too sure how this whole thing works."

"Let's just end this," the Author said wearily. "Inner Narrator, let's just have a truce. Deal?"

All right, deal.

"Thank God for that." The Author smiled, completely unaware that his eyebrows were now missing. Oops. Honest mistake. Could've happened to any narrator. "Anyways, continue. I think you were vaguely threatening me or something like that."

"Vaguely threatening you… ah yes, I know exactly where I am!" Sparrow stroked his green beard thoughtfully. "So, anyways. As I was saying. To be frank, your last few chapters have been terrible. They made Saturday Night Live look funny in comparison."

"Classic seasons or recent seasons?" the Author inquired.

"Recent."

The Author winced. "Ouch. That's harsh."

"It's true. Basically, I don't want to see you write like this. I like you, kid. You've got potential. But your ego's the size of the national debt and your work ethic is smaller than a major league baseball player's –"

"Don't even say it," the Author said sharply. "I don't think any of my readers would get the joke anyways."

Sparrow looked befuddled. "Really? Steroids, shrinkage down there… they really wouldn't make the connection? I thought it was rather clever, actually. Whatever. You get the point. You've got the ability… well, that's being a bit generous. You have some semblance of something that slightly resembles ability, but your attitude's all wrong. You've been slacking off. It's time for you to put your money where your mouth is."

The Author pulled out a dollar bill and licked it. "There. Done."

"That's not what I meant and you know it, you cocky little bastard." Sparrow let out a sigh. "But back to the point. It's time for you to pick it up. This whole convention center storyline… maybe you should take a break from it."

"Cheat on it, you mean!"

"No! It's not your girlfriend! Or boyfriend, if you're so inclined." At this very instant every single person reading this fic instantly thought, "Dumbledore!" Meanwhile, Remus and Sirius moped around in the corner because everyone had forgotten about them.

"I'm not." That's not what she – I mean, he – said. "Really, shut up!"

"Okay. Just saying. But still. It's not a bad thing to take a little break. I mean, look at Ross and Rachel. That worked out great for them." Sparrow either completely ignored or was completely ignorant of the fact that it didn't. Somewhere a paleontologist with greasy hair screamed, "WE WERE ON A BREAK!"

"Nice _Friends_ reference. It doesn't work at all in this situation, but still. You probably just made half of my readers skip that paragraph entirely."

"Oh." The elder man was unapologetic. "That's your problem. You're the one writing this, after all."

"Fine," the Author spat. "Then I'll do just that. Out of my sight, old man! It's time to write!"

And Sparrow disappeared as if he was never there at all. Perhaps he wasn't. In fact, he probably wasn't. It was probably just a fit of insanity from the Author. He sometimes talks to people that aren't there. Don't tell him I told you that, though.

The Author stretched his arms, washed behind his ears, trimmed his nails, and read a large magazine. After all of this he sat down at his computer and began surfing the internet. He quickly tired of this, though, and opened up a word processor. It was then that he began to write.

Shit. I was really hoping he wouldn't do that – I'm pretty tired already. As fun as this has been, I've gotta go. Narrating to do, you know.

I'll see you in a few lines. Peace.

-

Hey, foo, wassup? I told you I'd be back. How you been? Everything been going well? Dude, I've got the craziest story. You've gotta hear this. So there I was, trying to get to the next paragraph, right? And I'm minding my own business, but all of a sudden this little hyphen gets in my way! And I'm like, "Hyphen, bitch, get out of my way! I'm about to roundhouse kick you in the face if you don't move!" And then he says to me – you won't believe this – he turns around and he says to me –

"Narrator!" Harry shouted. "Shut up!"

Hey, chill! I'm trying to tell a story here. Damn! This boy acting up and all. I'm about to narrate some nasty shit on him for sho.

"When did the narrator become ghetto?" Voldemort asked.

Huh. That's actually a good point. Sorry. I'll get back to narrating.

"Apology accepted."

Now that our heroes were done having a conversation with a person that wasn't really there, they noticed that they were no longer in the convention center. As you recall, our heroes were split up into two teams and were doing something terribly important when we last left them. I personally don't remember anything that happened in the last chapter, so I'll have to go check that right now.

….

All right. So Team Scarhead (or was it Scarface?) was infiltrating the Harmonian camp. Right. Well, obviously, that's not happening now, because Harry and Voldemort are in the same place again (which they obviously weren't earlier – duh). So you should have caught on to the whole scenery change about five paragraphs ago. If you didn't you're an idiot. That's right. You're an idiot. How does it feel?

At this moment everyone who was going to review decided not to out of disgust over this insult. The Author didn't notice, however, and the story went on.

"Well, thank God that's over," Hermione said. Harry and Voldemort jumped, not realizing that she had even been there. "I don't think I could have stood that idiot's blabbering for another paragraph."

"When did you get here?" Ron asked confusedly.

"Yeah!" agreed Harry. He did a double-take. "Wait a minute! When did _you_ get here, Ron?"

"Hm. Good question." Ron stroked his chin in a manner that made himself look much smarter than he was. "When did I get here?"

Ron proceeded to think this over, and you know how Ron's thinking usually takes a very long time. Thankfully, Hermione was still an obnoxious know-it-all with a supercomputer for a brain.

"Can't you tell why we're here, Ron?" Ron just had a glazed look on his face, so she continued without waiting for an answer. "Obviously we're in a new setting, and the Author is about to commence with a side story completely unrelated to the main plot (whatever that may be). What better way to start a new story than with the main characters?"

Harry and Voldemort let out a collective, "Ahhhhhhhh," and Hermione was very pleased with herself. Ron, on the other hand, had misunderstood the meaning of "glazed" in the previous paragraph, and now was considering the possibility that his face was a donut, and that perhaps he should eat a chunk of it (really, who needs cheeks anyways?). No one noticed this, for no one was reading the narration, and Ron was trying to stretch his cheek into his mouth when another voice sounded.

"As always, excellent deduction, Hermione," came a low chuckle from behind them. They all turned around and gasped – none other than Albus Dumbledore stood before them! "Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, with a familiar twinkle in his eye (because this must be said in every fic about Dumbledore), "you seem to have misunderstood the meaning of 'glazed.' It was used to mean 'fixed, dazed, or lifeless,' not 'covered with a smooth, glossy surface or coating.' Also, it is incredibly difficult to eat your cheek. Once in my youth I tried, but alas, it was not to be."

Dumbledore sighed sadly and held his hands together in front of his waist. They waited for his jolly mood to reappear.

"Well, my jolly mood has reappeared. No worries," he announced after some time. "Anyways, I admit I have been a bit late in my entrance into this story. Rather unfortunate. However, I intend to make up for the time I have missed, so no worries!"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I just don't understand," replied Hermione. "How could you be here? This is for main characters, and not to offend you or anything, but in this fic you're pretty secondary. You weren't even present in the first seven chapters."

"I prefer to think of it as 'fashionably late,'" Dumbledore said with a creepy chuckle. I think you know what I'm talking about. Yeah. Chuckling old men are scary as shit. No joke. "I do apologize, though. But you are right. I believe the Author has placed me here to guide you to your next destination, which is obviously not where you were before. Otherwise you would just be going in a circle, and that would be fabulously unproductive."

"Ah. I see."

Everyone was silent. Dumbledore held out his hand, which grasped a bright yellow package. "Lemon drop?"

"Er, no thank you."

He shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself." He popped one into his mouth and instantly gave a little moan. "Oh thank heavens," he said. "That's right. Oh yeah. That's the stuff right there. That's some high quality shit. Damn. High quality shit. You sure you don't want one?"

"No, that's all right," Harry answered, slowly backing away from his former professor. "I'm fine without them."

Hermione leaned over to him, cupping her hand over her mouth so the now even creepier old man couldn't hear them. "Is it just me, or does Dumbledore remind you of House without the cane and with candy instead of Vicodin?"

"You know," Dumbledore said loudly, "House was actually based off of me when I was in my mid-forties and working at St. Mungo's. I walked with a limp from a bizarre gardening accident and had to use a cane. Lemon drops were the only things that took away the pain."

As if to prove this point, he popped another lemon drop into his mouth. "Oh," he groaned. "That's the shit. Man, that is the _shit_. Damn, I love my life. These are some high-value lemon drops. Hot damn."

Meanwhile, the Terrific Trio all noticed that Voldemort had retreated to a safe distance away from the super-creepy old dude. He was shivering and seemed rather nervous.

"Hey, Tommy!" Harry called out loudly and tactlessly. "Why are you trying to hide from Dumbledore?"

The professor looked away from his candy packet and to Voldemort, letting out a slow sigh quite like his last one. "I believe I know the issue. Tom has always been afraid of me."

"Afraid?" asked Hermione. "Why?"

"Tom has known of my sexuality for a long time. He has subsequently been afraid that I might try to make a move on him ever since he was a student at Hogwarts. This is the true cause behind his rise to power and the subsequent wars. He only wanted to grow strong enough to destroy me and put to rest all of his childhood fears."

"Afraid you'd make a move on him?" said Hermione incredulously. "That's ridiculous! I mean, honestly, just because you're gay doesn't mean you're a pervert or anything! Really! Tommy, how could you think such a thing!"

"You know, if there's anyone you should be scared of, it's McGonagall," said Ron. "She's got a history of that sort of thing." He noticed everyone else's stares and blushed. "What? I don't know anything, of course. I just… heard it from a friend that might have been involved in that stuff."

"Hermione and I are pretty much your only friends, Ron," Harry pointed out.

Ron shivered and covered his head with his hands. "I am in my happy place, nothing can hurt me now…"

"You see!" Voldemort shrieked. "This is exactly what these people –" he nodded to Dumbledore "– can do to us normal folk! They destroy our minds!"

"C'mon, Tommy," Harry said. "Don't make us turn this into some moral lesson. That would actually give this fic a point, and you know we can't have that."

"Yeah, that would just make the Author more of an arrogant asshole!" agreed Hermione with bookish enthusiasm as a large group of squirrels drew straws to see who would be struck by lightning this time. "Let's go, Tommy! Be tolerant so there's no conflict, and thus no story! Don't let there be an underlying theme here! Rebel! Stick it to the man!"

Punk rock played in the background, and Hermione began dancing wildly. While her speech had been deeply uninspiring, this dance completely changed his mind about everything. Don't ask me why. It's convenient and it moves the story along.

"Gosh, I never looked at it that way! You're right, Hermione! I don't give a damn about Dumbledore's sexual preference at all!" And he began dancing too.

"As glad as I am that we can see eye to eye, now, Tom, I must say that your dancing is quite horrid." Dumbledore clapped his hands and the music stopped. "So sorry. But we are dawdling. There are places to be, you see. We must hurry!"

"Hurry?" asked Ron. "Hurry where?"

"Ah, that is the question, Mr. Weasley!" Dumbledore looked positively delighted that Ron had asked this. Dumbledore's freaking weird like that. "My boy, we are going back to a different time and place, a time and place quite unlike our own: we are going to the release party for the seventh book!"

"But that was _months_ ago," Hermione complained. "It's hardly even relevant now."

"Yes, but it's a handy vehicle for the Author to discuss the events of the seventh book, is it not? And it keeps this fic in accordance with canon by merely stating that the preceding seven chapters were AU!"

"That doesn't make any sense. You just said it was canon because it was AU."

"Yes," he said. "It is in accordance with canon because it is _intentionally_ AU. Before this chapter was written, the fic was AU merely because it was written before the seventh book! But now the Author is revising that, and saying that the first seven chapters were intended to divert from the main plotline before the seventh book anyways, so it's intentionally AU and thus not in violation with canon!"

For once in her life, Hermione Jane Granger didn't understand something. In other news, pigs flew, politicians actually gave a damn about the good of the country rather than their own selfish needs, celebrities adopted babies from somewhere other than Africa, and Severus Snape did a TV spot for a shampoo line. "What? That's really confusing. I think I get what you're saying, but it's still really stupid."

"Sometimes it's smart to be stupid," stated Dumbledore in his usual aphoristic manner. Damn straight! "Well, some people abuse the privilege." Hey, what's that supposed to mean, old man? Huh? Huh? "Nothing." That's what I thought. Ain't no one talking shit about this here narrator! No one!

"You Can Call Me Tommy: pushing the boundaries of stupidity since 2005!" Hermione remarked dryly. She shook her head. "Well, let's just ignore that paragraph. Anyways, where is this release party, professor?"

He beamed at her. "Why, we're already here!"

And so they were. All around them excited Muggles were babbling about theories and Horcruxes and the hotness of each actor, along with the less excited Muggles who made it clear they were only there because their friends were there too (and because they'd seen the third movie and it was all right, although they didn't understand all that crap at the end – were the serial killer and the professor lovers?). Banners high above them said nerdy things like, "Neither can live while the other survives!" and "To the Boy Who Lived!" Meanwhile, Harry's face was plastered everywhere, or really the face of the actor who apparently played him in the film franchise (which is of course entirely fictional and not related to the real film franchise… in other words, don't sue me).

"He looks short," Harry commented, stepping forward to take a closer look at a large poster. "And a bit sickly."

"You look a bit sickly yourself, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

Harry shrugged, regarding the poster distastefully. "I dunno. He seems like the kind of guy who'd go get naked onstage in a play about horses and whatnot."

Near the entrance people were being funneled off into two directions, one direction reading "SNAPE IS GOOD," the other reading, "SNAPE IS EVIL." Harry and Ron hurried to the evil side and began clapping the shoulders and shaking the hands of everyone that came through.

"Good choice sir! Very good choice, you look like a very respectable man!" Ron exclaimed. "I quite like the mustache, too, I wish my facial hair was that bristly! Very good, very good!"

Dumbledore and Hermione stood back and surveyed this display with a degree of sadness. "Yes, I now can see why it was a mistake to have Snape tutor Harry in Occlumency," remarked the headmaster. "Harry really hates him, doesn't he?"

"No shit, Sherlock," snorted Hermione. "Harry's hardly going to go name his second-born child after the man. Can you imagine how unrealistic that would be? It would probably be revealed in some horrible overly cheesy epilogue at the end of the book. Typical. But don't worry. I don't think the series will ever stoop that low."

The Author would at this point like to thank irony for making this fic so much easier to write. Also, he would like to thank crappy epilogues, the gifts that keep on giving for parody writers like himself. That is all.

This madness went on for some time. There was a costume contest, where people were dressed up as all sorts of things: Moaning Myrtle, Voldemort ("Who's that good-lookin' reptilian fella over there, hey?"), a troll, a clown (in actuality this was merely a confused man who enjoyed costume parties and had been attracted by the constant flow of nerds – I mean, really cool people – streaming into the building in their cloaks and pointy hats), and even a portrait (I shit you not – this is a true story). In another corner there was a raffle with some really cheap prizes (hey, it's been a rough year for book stores!). In yet another corner there was an illegal game of high-stakes poker going on between politicians, lobbyists, and several Mafia members. They were very irritated, as they usually played their poker game at midnight at the book store for secrecy, and now there was a whole crowd of nerds (I mean, cool people) counting down to the release of some blasted book about a dude in glasses. Luckily for the nerds (really, what else are we?), this week was not strip poker week. That would have been traumatizing for everyone involved.

Finally a rotund man with ginger hair stepped on top of the counter and waved his arms wildly above him to get everyone's attention. However, several people merely thought he was doing some new dance move, and so then someone else cranked up the music (wizard rock, of course) to an insane volume. So all the nerds began their nerdy dances, and this continued for some time until the rotund man could finally yell over the music.

"Excuse me! EXCUSE ME." The music stopped. Every nerd guy groaned as his window to dance awkwardly with nerd girls suddenly slammed shut. "Thank you! Now, I'm your manager here at –" the Author wishes not to disclose the name of the book store so that he doesn't get sued "– and I just want to ask you all if you're having fun!"

The fans all shouted and hollered as best they could. The disinterested non-fan Muggles carried on their conversations and completely ignored the manager. Our heroes said nothing, with the exception of Ron, who was currently cleaning up in that illegal poker game I mentioned earlier. "Look at his poker face!" marveled one of the corrupt politicians. "I mean, honestly! I can't even tell if he's bluffing! I haven't seen someone with such a good poker face since I told those voters I would lower taxes! Or that time when I told my wife that really, I don't care for sex, and no, I'm not sleeping with my intern!"

The secret to Ron's success was simple: he had no idea what he was doing. There was no bluffing, because he did not even know how to play poker. Sometimes it's better to be lucky (or stupid) than good, as they say.

"That's what I thought!" exclaimed the manager. "Now, lemme hear you all! Can I get a 'what' up in this house?"

There was a loud, nasal "WHAT" from the crowd. One geek stopped fiddling with his pocket protector long enough to ask another, "What? What do they mean, 'what?'"

"I don't know," said the other geek. "It doesn't make sense. They're not asking anything. Or, as (insert sci-fi android/computer here) might say, 'Does not compute!'"

And the geeks giggled. As the narrator, I would just like to take a moment to say that this treatment of nerds and geeks is really hysterical. The Author is as big a geek as anyone.

NUH UH.

Yes.

OKAY, LET'S PUT IT THIS WAY. IF GEEKS WERE THE RINGS OF POWER, THEN I WOULD _NOT_ BE THE ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL. I'D PROBABLY BE ONE OF THE ELVEN RINGS. NOT ONE OF THE NINE. DEFINITELY NOT. I'M NOT ONE OF THE Nazgûl OR ANYTHING. I JUST WANT TO GET THAT OUT OF THE WAY. I'M DEFINITELY NOT ONE OF THE Nazgûl.

Right. Not a nerd. Not a ringwraith. Got it.

"That's right!" continued the manager. "Well, anyways, only FIVE MINUTES 'TIL THE BOOK IS RELEASED! Can you guys believe it?"

"I've got six!" shouted one man from the back.

"I've got four minutes and 37.5 seconds," shouted one girl.

"Approximately," corrected the manager. "Give or take one or two. But anyways. The hour is almost upon us! As Mad-Eye Moody might say, wands at the ready!"

"Constant vigilance!" growled Moody, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Strangely, none of the fans noticed his presence. In fact, no one seemed to notice any of the characters at all, probably just because they thought that the characters were merely exuberant fans that had way too much time to make costumes.

"Alastor! You're here!" Dumbledore clapped him on the back with the usual merriment. "May I ask what brings you here at such an hour, though?"

"There are dark things afoot, Albus," said Moody. He twitched as someone passed near him. "Dark things. I hear someone might try something funny."

At this point he looked pointedly at Voldemort with his good eye. The magical eye was checking out a good-looking lady who appeared to be dressed up as a Quidditch player. Moody's a playa. What can I say?

"What?" griped Voldemort, irritated. "I'm not a danger to anyone. I'm completely rehabilitated. There was that one slip-up back in Chapter 5 where I killed fifteen people or something, but besides that I've been entirely clean. I feel remorse for what I've done."

"If you felt remorse for what you've done, you'd no longer have any Horcruxes," stated Hermione. "I mention that in the new book. It's apparently a pretty painful process."

"Quite like going through a break-up, I imagine," said Harry mournfully. He sighed and reapplied his lip gloss. "I mean, you try the best you can, but sometimes it just doesn't work out! Just because you got drunk that one time in Cancun and you might have slept with that transvestite stripper. It could happen to anyone, honestly! But then she leaves you for that man-whore who's all 'masculine' and 'manly' and whatever, and you just want to curl up in your bed, put on some depressing music, and cry yourself into a nightmare-filled sleep!"

Hermione and Voldemort were quite used to Harry's outbursts by now, but they were something new to the other two. Moody regarded Harry as if he were a particularly intriguing three-car pile-up on the freeway. "There's something called Prozac, Potter. Use it. I'll forge you a prescription if I have to."

"Why are you singling me out?" demanded Voldemort, eyes flashing a dangerous red. "Look at that group over there! They look far more murderous than I do!"

Moody's eye swiveled to a group of angry-looking people with large signs who were yelling and chanting various things such as "No pay, no script!" and "We'll see how much you miss us when you're stuck with reality TV shows!"

"Them?" Moody asked. "They're just a bunch of writers on strike. Relatively harmless. Unless you factor in all the non-writers who will lose jobs over this strike. But who cares about them, anyways?"

"THREE MINUTES!" shouted the manager from the front. Every fan in the building squealed simultaneously with delight.

It was then that things really began to get interesting. Mean little kids ran around screaming "BELLATRIX KILLS RON! BELLATRIX KILLS RON!" Fans everywhere screamed; soon people had swarmed the little kids with their pitchforks and commemorative collectors' wands. "KILL THE HERETICS!" they roared. "THEY HAVE SPOILED THE BOOK FOR US! TAKE THEIR LIVES AS REPAYMENT!"

"Do you think we should tell them that Ron doesn't die?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"I die?" shrieked Ron. He began grasping at his hair and his clothing wildly. "Oh my God! Am I fading away? Oh no! I swear, I can change! I never meant to marry that girl in Vegas! She must have slipped something in my drink, I swear! I'm not that guy any more!"

Hermione watched him with a sense of humored detachment. "On second thought, never mind. Let's just say nothing."

By now the little kids had all but vanished underneath a pile of angry fans. One teenager paced around the area, muttering to himself, "But it makes perfect sense! In book one Ron is taken during the chess game – by the _Queen!_ It makes such sense! Oh no, oh no…"

"TWO MINUTES!" shouted the manager. Several members of the mob actually looked up from the lynching to whoop or cheer.

"What people don't realize is that the book's not going to come out at all," commented Harry with a chuckle. "You all have probably heard about that writers' strike."

"First of all, Harry," replied Hermione in a very know-it-all voice that she'd perfected further over the duration of Chapter 7 (which she had not appeared in, in case you'd forgotten), "that's in America. Second of all, that's for scriptwriters. Thirdly, that's going to take place about four months from now."

"Ah. Well, scriptwriters aren't that important anyways. This means there'll be more reality TV! Woohoo!"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "You actually like reality TV?"

"Yeah!" He grinned. "It's so real!"

"Yes," she muttered, "it's not scripted at all. Right."

"ONE MINUTE!"

Everyone squealed once more, including the paramedics that had been called to attend to the poor idiots who had stupidly thought to scream out a (fake) spoiler. Together all the fans began to count down the seconds to the release.

"60… 59… 58…"

"This is going to get really old after a while," Voldemort pointed out.

"OH MY GOD!" screamed Ron fearfully. "WHAT ARE THEY COUNTING DOWN TO?" He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Come on, Harry! They're counting down to the end of the world! As your sidekick I'm obligated to get you out of this building!"

"They're counting down to the release of the book, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh. "Countdowns don't always end in explosions, contrary to what action movies may have taught you. Also, if the world is really going to end, it doesn't matter if you get Harry out of this building. He'd still die."

"37… 36… 35…"

Dumbledore whistled merrily to himself. "Jawbreaker, anyone? No? No? Fine, I'll just have one to myself." So he popped one into his mouth. "Oh yes. Oh sweet merciful Jesus yes. That's the stuff. That's some shit there, boy. That's some fine shit. Wow. Hot damn."

And again everyone was creeped out for several moments. Except for Moody. Either he was used to Dumbledore's candy habit or he was busy checking out a group of female (overage, might I add – I don't want to be suspended or anything) fans near the counter. I'll leave it to you to decide which it was.

"27… 26… 3… 2… 1…"

(Okay, so I skipped ahead a little. I got bored. And this is where I'm ending this chapter because it was the only good place to end it and the other half of the extra-large chapter will be posted in a week or two. Hooray for quick updates!)

"That author's note really ruins the flow," Hermione pointed out.

(Shove it.)

"Loser."

-


	9. Spoiler Alert: Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

IF YOU READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE THEN YOU WILL SPROUT ONIONS FROM YOUR EARS UNLESS YOU LEAVE FORTY REVIEWS FOR THIS CHAPTER. NO JOKE. SEND THIS TO 10.5 PEOPLE AND ALL OF YOUR DREAMS WILL COME TRUE EXCEPT FOR THOSE WEIRD ONES YOU HAD ABOUT YOUR FRIEND'S GRANDMOTHER BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE WEIRD. FOR REAL.

"What?" gasped Ron. "Really? Oh my God!"

HEY, MAIN CHARACTER! NARRATION! GET OUT OF MY AUTHOR'S NOTE! THIS IS WHERE I DO MY CHAIN LETTER STUFF BECAUSE NO ONE READS THEM ANYWAYS!

"Hey, I'm leaving! I've got to go leave forty reviews and send this to 10.5 people!"

WHO'S THE HALF?

"Flitwick."

WISE MOVE, GINGER. NOW OFF WITH YOU SO WE CAN GET TO THE DISCLAIMER.

"Hasta luego!" Ron left and (disclaimer!) I don't own anything. So don't sue, you annoying copyright lawyers.

* * *

Nine: Spoiler Alert: Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

-

There was chaos. Countless fans swarmed over the shelves and to the counter, eventually throwing the manager onto their backs and trampling the employees on their way to the boxes of books.

"BOOK!" they chanted in unison. "WE MUST HAVE OUR BOOK!"

"Now, really!" cried the manager as he surfed the crowd along with Ron, who had jumped up of his own will (the businessman cheered, as he was just about to knock several of them out of their high stakes poker game). "You can't just take them! You have to pay for them!"

"GET THE BOOKS!" the mob yelled in a collective, trance-like voice. "KILL ANYONE WHO GETS IN OUR WAY! DISMEMBER ANYONE WHO ATTEMPTS TO MAKE US PAY!"

The manager smiled weakly. "I'd like to announce that we're having a special sale: all books are now free! Take whatever you'd like!"

"TAKE WHAT WE LIKE! MUST HAVE BOOK!"

So they ripped open the boxes and took the books for themselves. Several jetted out of there to go home and read; others dallied behind, celebrating their victory.

"I got one!" Ron said happily as he surfed the crowd back towards the group. "Woohoo!"

"Very good, Weasley," Snape remarked with his usual greasiness. "I'm glad to see you haven't wasted your time getting any smarter since we last met."

"Severus!" Dumbledore chortled happily. "Such a pleasant surprise to see you here!"

Snape looked murderous. Get it? "The feeling's not mutual."

"Oh, Severus, don't be such a sourpuss. I helped you end everything, didn't I? I mean, you were framed for murder and all, but you became headmaster! You learned how to fly! That must have been pretty cool!"

"It wasn't. It was actually pretty terrifying since I have a great fear of heights. I only did it because Voldemort expected me to."

It took Voldemort a while to notice that everyone was staring at him. "Hey, what? I can't control what my canon self does while I'm off trying to repair my reputation!"

"Enough is enough. What's done is done. I'm supposedly dead, anyways, as are you, Albus." Snape glanced at Harry. "Say, Potter, have you seen your mother lately?"

Harry hesitated. "Er… why?"

"No reason," said Snape casually. "Just wondering."

"Uh, no. I think she's dead, but if you're dead and Dumbledore's dead, then maybe she's around anyways…"

"Very well. Open your eyes very wide."

"Why would I –"

Snape did not wait for his answer, instead stepping forwards and prying Harry's eyelids open with his own bony fingers. He then stared into the boy's green eyes for some time.

Dumbledore leaned over and tapped Snape on the shoulder. "Severus?"

"Sorry." Snape stood up, wiping a tear from his cheek. He turned to Harry. "I thought you had something in your eye. Turns out you didn't."

He abruptly walked off, leaving the group in an uneasy silence.

"Well," said Voldemort, "that was certainly awkward."

"Snape's in love with Harry's mum," Hermione announced. Everyone stared at her, and she gestured to the book in her hands. "Just read it. He was a good guy all along, too."

"I could have told you that," muttered Dumbledore.

"You name one of your kids after him," she said, turning to Harry. "Well, technically, he's named Albus Severus Potter. Poor boy. Then you give him some sappy speech in the epilogue about how Snape was the bravest man you ever knew."

"Albus Severus?" Moody scoffed, taking a break from his guard duty to ridicule Harry. "Damn it, Potter, isn't that some form of child abuse?"

"Oh, I don't know, _Alastor_," Harry spat. He directed his attention to Hermione. "Who do I knock up, anyways?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Always eloquent. You get married to –"

"Me!"

There stood Ginny Weasley. She was very pretty and had flaming red hair and freckles, yadda yadda yadda. Insert all the boring mushy description that accompanies every appearance by Ginny in the books.

Harry was hesitant. "Er… are you sure that's not a misprint? Here, read it again!"

"No," said Hermione, scanning over the page, "you definitely get married to Ginny."

"Uh. Wow. Okay." Harry waved awkwardly at Ginny. "Hello."

"Hiya, Harry!" she said, excited. Her facial expression changed to one of concern. "What? Is something wrong, Harry?"

Harry blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Well, yes. You see, no offense or anything, Gin – may I call you Gin, by the way? – but you're kind of… boring. I really can't see myself with you. I mean, I get that you're pretty and fiery and all that, but your character arc is just dull. You have no development whatsoever, besides that craptacular jump between GoF and OotP. You're a great gal and all, but I'm just afraid this won't work out."

"Wait wait wait," said Hermione, waving the book around wildly. "Haven't you been pining after her the entire fic, Harry?"

"Well, really, I didn't think she'd show up or anything! I was just trying to be dramatic!"

"Ah." Hermione grinned. "You know, you're not that popular of a character either, Harry. Some people say you're boring. Really, you two are a perfect match!"

Harry blanched. "Oh God no. You devil woman. You she-devil! Curse you and your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

"I can make it all better, Harry!" cried Ginny desperately. "I know! Let's snog!"

"Er… say what?"

Ginny shrugged. "It worked in Book 7."

"The hell? Lemme read that!"

Harry snatched the book from Hermione and began thumbing through it frantically. Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye. "Ah. Young love. The most powerful magic there is!"

"I'm not in love with Ginny!" growled Harry.

"Teenage denial," Moody murmured. "How cute, Potter."

"Hey, lay off, you guys. This is no laughing matter." Voldemort shook his head sadly. "I've been inside her head, after all. I feel sorry for Harry. The poor bastard is pretty much screwed. I, for one, wouldn't want her fawning all over me. The girl's legitimately boring. She's possibly the least interesting character I've ever had the misfortune of coming across in my travels."

"Your travels?" snorted Moody. "Wow, that's got a relatively peaceful connotation. It almost sounds like you _weren't_ involuntarily disembodied because you'd tried to murder an infant."

Voldemort shrugged. "You know. Tomato, tomahto."

"Wow, you weren't even lying," Harry said as he shoved the book back at Hermione. "Whoa. I can't believe this is happening. I feel sick inside. My whole life just went down the toilet."

"Loo!" exclaimed Ron randomly.

"Thanks for the Britification, Ron." Harry turned to Ginny. "Say, Gin, how about this… you go wait outside. I'll be out in a bit. Then we can go see a movie and snog and all that good stuff."

Ginny beamed. "Okie dokie, Harry!"

And off she went. Harry looked to the others. "All right. Now, while she's out there, I'm going to sneak out the back entrance. I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Harry!" snapped Hermione. "You will do no such thing!"

"You devil-woman! Curse you! Curse you a thousand times!"

"Curse who?" asked someone cheerfully. It was Neville, along with that one girl. You know. I think she might have been in Hufflepuff. I don't remember. She was a minor character. I usually skim over minor characters' names when I'm reading. They're not important.

"My name's Hannah Abbot, and I'm very important!" protested the girl angrily.

Sure, whatever you say. I don't even know if I spelled your name right up there, but I'm too lazy to check.

"You misspelled it," remarked Hermione. "It's spelled 'Abbott.'"

Ah, whatever. Who cares?

"I do!"

Shut it, lady, before I write you right out of this story.

Abbot ("It's Abbott you imbecile!") gave an indignant humph but besides that was quiet. Thank God for that.

"Hello Neville!" Dumbledore greeted him with a wide smile. "How are you doing?"

"Oh man, I'm doing great, Professor! I'm a total badass in this last book! Plus –" he put his arm around Abbot (not Abbott) "– I just found out through a recent interview that I marry Hannah here! Isn't that swell?"

"Who's she?" grunted Moody. "I don't remember her from the books."

Amen, brother!

"Don't call me brother or I'll kill you."

Yes sir.

"I remember her now!" Voldemort stated, slapping his head in a self-mocking fashion and chuckling. "Silly me. You're one of my junior Death Eaters, aren't you?"

"No!" replied Abbot angrily.

"You're a famous Quidditch player?" guessed Harry.

"No!"

"You're a one-legged hooker from a small town in Belgium," said Moody. Everyone stared at him before Abbot gave her indignant reply.

"No!"

"You're a blonde, pig-tailed Hufflepuff in our year who was a member of the D.A., had a nervous breakdown before O.W.L.s, and stood guard over a secret passageway with Lee and Fred during the final battle," answered Ron. Now everyone stared at him. "What?" He gestured to a nearby computer. "I saw it on Wikipedia."

"Ahhhhh, Wikipedia. All hail Wikipedia!" You know, because it's awesome. No joke. I eat that shit up for breakfast.

"What are you doing here anyways, Neville?" Hermione asked after everyone was done worshipping the Greatest Site Ever Created.

"I'm here on business. After the war I set up a pest-control company, Exterminaticus Totalus." That's a terrible name. But carry on. "It's really been booming lately."

Apparently it was time for another one of Hermione's patented _why-are-you-so-stupid-and-why-am-I-so-smart?_ moments. "Uh, Neville, canonically you become the Herbology Professor."

"Yeah, but I figure that's probably not for a couple of years," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Besides, I'm making a boatload of Galleons on this."

"Really?" asked Dumbledore with his usual politeness. "What exactly do you exterminate?"

"Oh, you know, this, that –"

"For Pete's sake, Ron, enough with the crowd surfing!" Hermione cried. Ron had been lazing about on top of a group of nerds for a while, and the nerds moaned as their arms quivered and shook. "They're tired!"

Neville sprung to attention. "What was that? Did you say 'snake?'"

"No, Neville, I didn't –"

But it was too late. In a flash he was in ready position, Gryffindor's sword in his hands. His eyes swept over the crowd, finally landing on Voldemort. "There it is! C'mere little buddy, it's time to be eradicated!"

Voldemort stared at him, head cocked to the side curiously. "What the –"

"HIIIIIYYYYAAAAAA!"

Neville sprung like a cougar full of caffeine in the middle of a cricket match. (Uh… long story. Bad simile. Lemme try again.) Neville sprung like a very powerful and very tightly compressed spring.

"That was even worse," noted Hermione.

Oh shut up. Anyways, Neville sprung, sword high above his head, preparing to strike. He was still in midair when it happened; in a blink of an eye Voldemort had his wand extended. Harry lurched forward violently. "Tommy! NO! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO IT!"

Voldemort didn't hear him, though. The fatal spell had already been cast. Neville's mouth formed a little 'o' as the green light hit him. The sword dropped from his hands. It took him an eternity to fall.

Really, it took him an eternity to fall. His robes got caught on one of the lighting fixtures (he had an insane vertical leap) and for a while he just hung there.

"That wasn't very dramatic," growled Moody.

"Huh." Voldemort placed his hands on his hips and examined Neville's body. "Well I'll be darned. In fifty-odd years of killing that's never happened to me. It's actually kind of cool, really. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I was going to do when his body kept flying towards me. I was either going to do a very stylish dodge and swoosh of my cape as he passed by, or I was going to go for the more graphic option: cutting him in half vertically and standing there as each half landed to my side. But this is sweet, too."

Harry raised his hand awkwardly, as if he was in pre-school all over again. "Er… do we just leave him up there? I mean, I'm sure the store staff can take him down later. He's pretty much a decoration anyways."

"NEVILLE!" screamed Abbot, rushing forwards. She sobbed as she clutched his cold dead body. "No! We were going to get married! I was going to take your name! Narrators weren't going to misspell my name any more! Damn you, Snake-Man! Damn you and your unstylish pink hair to hell!"

Voldemort blushed in the background while Harry's eyebrows furrowed downwards. "Well, that wasn't a delayed reaction or anything." What do you expect? There was some other dialogue I wanted to get in before she started mourning! "Whatever you say. You're the boss." You got that right, buster.

So anyways, Abbot cried some more as she clawed as his dead clammy skin. He was already beginning to stink, because that's what dead people do best. She clawed at his robes which covered his dead body. He was dead. He was so dead that it wasn't even funny. Not that death is funny. Just using that as a figure of speech. But back to the point. He was really dead. In fact, he couldn't have been more dead.

"We get it," said Hermione, rubbing her eyes. "Enough."

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead. Just to clear this up… Neville was not alive. He was dead.

"I know!" wailed Abbot. Hermione offered her a remorseful smile and a tense pat on the shoulder.

"You're kind of a bastard, you know that?" Harry said, looking in the narrator's direction. Which is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, really, so it doesn't make any sense, but deal with it. "She's in pain here."

…And your point is?

"Never mind."

Dumbledore stepped forward and gave Abbot a kind smile. "I am so sorry for your loss, Ms. Abbott, but you had best get going before the Author tires of you and kills you too. With luck Neville may be revived yet!"

Abbot looked up, a gleam of hope breaking through the tears. "R-really?"

"Yes!" Dumbledore replied, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Okay! I'll just be off then!" And she skipped along because the Author was tired of this particular subplot.

"Yes! She's gone! That was getting really boring." Harry yawned and stretched out his hands above his head, accidentally hitting Neville's carcass as he did so. "Whoops. Sorry, Neville."

"What's that?" came a boyish voice from a nearby bookshelf.

"I dunno," replied another. "Looks a bit like Frank, really."

Voldemort slapped his hand against his face. "Oh brother. Not these idiots again."

You guessed it. (Or maybe you didn't. In which case you really need to take a timeout and think about where you're going in life. Really.) It was the Marauders.

"Oy, Prongs, I think it's Frank!" exclaimed Sirius as he poked and prodded the body with a finger. "A bit rounder in the face, but still."

"I think it looks like Alice, Padfoot," replied James, inspecting Neville's forehead. "What do you say, Moony?"

"No idea, Prongs," Remus said (in every Marauders fic they are incapable of calling each other by anything other than their recklessly conspicuous nicknames - which some OC love interest of Sirius's always picks up on – and I'll be damned if this fic actually has any originality to it! Nicknames it is!). "Got any clue, Wormtail?"

Peter shrugged. "I think he looks like both, personally."

"Wait a second," stated Hermione in her best _you're-all-idiots-and-I-despise-you_ voice (she's got several voices that are all pretty similar and very condescending because that's what Hermione does best). "For the past two chapters Peter's been portrayed as a complete idiot. This is a total turn-around."

I got bored. Deal with it.

"I'm glad you're consistent with your characterization, at the very least."

Sarcastic little… ah, if only there were more squirrels in this book store. You'll pay for that one yet.

"What are you guys doing here?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, it's good to see you too, son." James rolled his eyes. "And how would I know? We just randomly showed up here a few minutes ago. It's absolute madness."

"Have you read the book yet?" inquired Hermione. "I think there might be some interesting things you might like to read."

"Actually, no. Here, let me see." Remus took the book from Hermione and scanned through it in a flash. Remus is a ridiculously fast reader. "Hm. Interesting. Not much of note there, though. I can't complain. I'm happily married with a son."

Hermione's face paled. "Er… Remus… are you sure you read the entire thing?"

"Yes!" he said, indignant. "I don't skim, Hermione. Why? What did I miss?"

"Here, let me show you." She grabbed the book and flipped open to a certain page. "Read this sentence."

He nodded. "Okay… yes, we saw him die… yes, of course…. WAIT A MINUTE! I DIED?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"IT'S BARELY EVEN MENTIONED! I was wondering why I showed up when Harry used the Resurrection Stone! C'mon! I'm a fairly major character here! Readers should at least notice that I died!"

"Tonks died, too," Ron added.

"MY SON IS AN ORPHAN?"

"Yeah," chirped in Harry. "Don't worry, though. Andromeda and I will take great care of him. I've already got a nice leather outfit for him to wear when we go shopping together. It'll be fabulous."

"LIKE HELL YOU WILL!" Remus slammed the book down into the ground. "That's it! I've taken too much crap for too long to put up with this! This is inexcusable! My death was not only completely looked over, it was also obviously added in at the last second for the sole purpose of having someone die! Enough is enough! There are going to be plenty of terrible resurrection fics after this, but I don't even care! This is terrible!"

"And it doesn't seem like you and Tonks had that great of a relationship either," noted Voldemort. "At least not at first. Later on in the book you're happier, but in the beginning you're almost as emo as Harry."

"He can't help it if his soul is aflame with a love so powerful it burns to his very core!" Harry retorted emotionally. He turned to Remus and smiled. "Don't worry, Remus. You'll look great in these pants I've got. They're black and tight and they'll really emphasize your –"

"I don't want to know." Remus took a deep breath and picked the book up off the ground. "Here," he said, shoving it at Hermione. "I don't even want it. I wasn't going to bitch about this earlier, but did you notice that you three just started calling me Remus out of nowhere? We didn't even get to have the 'Don't call me Professor' interaction that I mentioned back in Chapter 2 of this fic. I mean, the good clichés aren't even in the book! I feel like I'm sitting on an inner tube floating down the River of Stupid, and I'm about to reach the Paradise of Intelligence at the end but these big Logs of Idiocy keep blocking my way and sending me down diverging Deltas of Dumbness."

"Aw. Poor Moony." Sirius patted him on the head. "Just let it go, Moony. Let it go. Fiction isn't supposed to make sense. I mean, look at me. I got killed by a freaking curtain of all things."

"IT WAS A VEIL!" screamed a legion of hardcore fans.

Sirius affected a high, whiny voice. "_It was a veil!_ Fine. It doesn't. Whatever it was, I was killed by a piece of cloth. How lame is that? And technically, a veil is a curtain, mainly used in religious ceremonies."

"Hey, that's not even the worst part!" exclaimed Peter. "I was killed by a rogue limb that went haywire on me! I actually choked myself!"

"I know how you feel, Peter," sighed Harry, wiping a tear from his eye and smudging his mascara in the process. "You feel so helpless. But I promise you, life is worth it! Don't give up!"

"I wasn't _trying_ to choke myself. I don't even think that's even possible. I think you pass out or something before that happens."

"Oh. Never mind."

"Well, my death actually had some merit," stated James, embarrassed. "Peter betrayed me, and then the Snake King over here AK'd me."

Voldemort stared at his feet. "Yeah… my bad."

"Look on the bright side, Remus," Dumbledore stated, beaming. "Teddy will probably name his firstborn son after you, and then his firstborn daughter after Tonks. Your name will live on!"

Remus was not much consoled. "My name will live on even if he doesn't name his kids after me. His name is Teddy _Lupin_, after all."

"Unless he has a kid out of wedlock," Hermione remarked.

"Teddy and Victoire, sitting in a tree," Harry sang. "K-I-S-S – they're both abstinence-free!"

James scooted backwards. "There is no possible way that you're my son."

Sirius bore an enthusiastic grin. "That's my godson right there! Attaboy, Harry! You tell 'em!"

"Why are you congratulating him?" Hermione asked, incredulity etched into her face. I mean that quite literally. Ron had found a pen on the ground and had written 'INCREDULITY' all over her face in big blocky letters. "That was terrible!"

"Didn't you notice, Granger?" grunted Moody. "Black's mentally deranged. That's what happens when you spend twelve years in prison, a year on the run, and then you're forced to spend a year in the house of your dead family that you hated by a manipulative senior citizen." His magical eye swiveled to face Dumbledore, who was whistling innocently and twiddling his thumbs. "The fact that Potter ever listened to him is actually pretty astounding."

"I'm a trusting person!" boasted Harry.

"I meant that you're stupid, Potter."

"Oh."

"But in this fic Sirius is still a teenager!" Hermione protested. "He hasn't ever been to prison or anything!"

Moody gave a shrug. "Maybe he was born that way."

"Ah, look who it is!" Dumbledore exclaimed, breaking off the conversation. "Lily! How do you do?"

"Just fine, Professor," replied the redhead. She placed her hands on her hips. "Why am I here?"

"No clue," said Dumbledore. "None of us know, either. But at least we're alive again!"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess." She glanced at the Marauders. "Ugh. They're here."

"Aw, Lily, you know you love us," James said, smirking.

"Actually, when I go to bed I pray that you all will spontaneously combust."

"Er… never mind."

Sirius stretched his arms high above his head and laughed. "Whatever, Evans. We don't need to stick around to hear your hormonal grumblings. Marauders, let's head out! Snivellus must be somewhere around, and if he's not wearing a skirt by the end of the night then my name's not Sirius Black!"

"All right!" Peter chirped, punching his fist into the air.

"I guess," muttered Remus.

"I think I'll stick around here," said James casually. Sirius deadpanned. "What? I just wanted to spend some quality time with my son, since I'm going to die before he grows up. That's a good excuse, you've got to admit."

"Eh, I guess," admitted Sirius. He narrowed his eyes quite like detectives on TV crime dramas do when they realize the one connection that closes the case just before the final commercial break. "You'd better not be saying that just so you can spend time with Lilith over here. I'll find out if you are."

"Of course not!" James lied, bullish. "I want to connect with my son! Isn't that right, Harry?"

He wrapped his arm around Harry's neck and hugged him close to his chest. Harry, bent over and with his face pressed into James's shirt, gave Sirius a half-hearted thumbs-up. "That's right!" he affirmed, voice muffled.

"Whatever." Sirius grabbed Remus and Peter by the back of their shirt collars. "Marauders, we're outta here!"

James watched his friends' retreating backs. He let go of Harry and smiled. "Sorry about that, Harry. Just had to make up something on the spot."

"Really," said Harry in a low voice as he tried in vain to straighten his frazzled hair, "it's all right. No problem." He didn't mention James's severe need for deodorant. That would have made things awkward.

"Good." James made his way over to Lily in a half-swagger, half-bounce that ended up looking far more ridiculous than sexy. Poor James. He even mussed up his hair, thinking that would add to his appeal. Really, the dude's just pathetic. "So, Lily…"

"No."

"I was just wondering…"

"When pigs fly."

"Maybe…"

"Never."

"You and I could go out?"

"I'm sorry, check back when hell has frozen over."

"Aw, come on, Lils!" James cried (and I don't mean in a manly way – he sounded really whiny). "Just gimme a chance!"

Lily stared at him. "Did you just call me Lils and honestly expect that I'd want to go out with you?"

"That's almost as bad as Ron and Harry calling me 'Mione," Hermione remarked.

"Couldn't agree with you more, 'Mione," stated a straight-faced and blissfully oblivious Ron.

"Hey, what's wrong with a pet name or two?" James said indignantly. He soon calmed himself with several deep breaths and manipulated his face into an easy smile. "C'mon, Lily. Let's ditch these losers, find a dark alley, snog a bit and then –"

"LALALALALALA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Harry placed his hands over his ears and began running in circles around the group. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALA! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING! LOUD NOISES ARE BLOCKING MY EARS ALONG WITH MY HANDS! LALA! NOPE! STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"Watching your teenage father try to seduce your teenage mother," said Moody as he lit up a cigarette. "Now there's a fate I wouldn't even wish on a Death Eater. That Potter kid's tough as nails, I'll give you that. A lesser man would have already cracked under the strain."

Dumbledore nodded to the cigarette. "When did you start smoking?"

"As soon as I saw a few of those cool Muggle action flicks." Moody held up a revolver in one hand and an automatic in the other. "I figured I'd play on the whole anti-hero thing. Go all out. Can you think of anything more intimidating than a scarred old dude with a roaming glass eye, a peg leg, two guns and a cigarette in his mouth who looks like he's liable to go on a killing spree at any moment? I didn't think so. I've even got a muscle car parked outside."

"That red one?" asked Voldemort.

"Yeah, with the skulls down the sides. Why?"

"Because some kids are hotwiring it right now."

"WHAT THE HELL?" Moody fired off several shots into the ceiling with the automatic and started to hobble to the door. "AWAY FROM MY CAR, YOU CONNIVING MISCREANTS! AM I GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT SOMEONE'S EYE OUT? WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU ALL YOU'LL WISH YOU'D NEVER MESSED WITH A CLINICALLY INSANE FORMER AUROR WITH ILLEGALLY OBTAINED GUNS!"

James watched as Moody stomped out of the bookstore. "Remind me never to mess with Moody's car."

The sound of gunshots resonated through the store. People outside began screaming, and Harry gulped. "I second that."

"You know, once he shot a cat with a bow and arrow," remarked Dumbledore. "True story."

That actually is a true story. I'm not even joking right here. Let's just say Author Senior has some really weird gun-wielding non-tax-paying pals with secret getaways in Oklahoma.

"Why would you shoot a cat with a bow and arrow?" asked Hermione. "And was that author's note really necessary?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Ask Alastor. I want to know where he got the bow and arrow."

There were more shouts, but these were from inside the store. A group of adults were situated around a computer, and they were causing quite a ruckus.

"Hey, guys!" called one of the adults over the murmuring. "Check out this! Apparently Dumbledore's gay and in love with Grindelwald!"

"Well, duh!" said Voldemort over the outcry. "I mean, we went over this like 5000 words ago! You're a bit late, man."

"Wait a second!" The man in question took a step forward. "You look a lot like Voldemort… you've even got a wand! If I didn't know better I'd say that you were one of the actual canon characters!"

Voldemort drew himself up to his full height. "Oh, I am! Watch this!"

He proceeded to put on a dazzling display of magic. He turned men into women and women into men (he decided to ignore hermaphrodites, as any genderfloppery he performed on them would just be redundant). He not only pulled rabbits out of hats – he pulled them pretty much out of any orifice you can think of or would like to think of (and several that you wouldn't). He did some advanced form of Transfiguration and Arithmancy to prove to the audience that two plus two actually equals zero. All in all, it was rather impressive.

"Oh my God," said the woman (who had previously been a man).

"I know," Voldemort preened, very satisfied with himself. "I'm pretty awesome."

"That's not what I meant. If you're a canon character, that means that he's a canon character!" The Woman Formerly Known as a Man pointed at Dumbledore. "He's right here in our midst, boys! This dude's gay! Get him!"

The crowd lurched forward. Only through Voldemort's quick thinking was a shield raised and the angry mob repelled.

"Hey!" exclaimed Hermione. "What's going on here? What does Dumbledore being gay have to do with anything?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid it comes with the territory, Hermione. Why do you think I have hidden it for so long? I know that I will not be accepted in some circles."

"That's – that's just wrong!" Hermione stopped as she seemed to notice something. "You know, Author, this fic is coming close to having an underlying moral or theme. You'd better watch it."

You're right. Let's just get on with it.

The mob pressed forward and Voldemort's shield shattered improbably (somehow a group of Muggles overpowered the most powerful wizard of our time… yeah, I don't know either). The gang split up and began fighting individual battles to protect the beloved headmaster. Ron engaged in kung fu with five lithe teenagers; Hermione bored several other teens to death by reading them a passage from a large and dull textbook. Voldemort did his magic thing, and James expertly dueled several Muggles; Harry held back and fought a half-hearted skirmish against two confused seven-year-olds who didn't even know what was going on and weren't even part of the mob. Dumbledore hung back by himself because that makes the next part a lot easier to write.

"Ugh!"

Everyone turned and watched as Dumbledore (who had been alone and unarmed because that's convenient) fell. As it had with the late Neville Longbottom, it took him forever to fall. This was probably because he had fallen into a large vat of molasses ("Hey, that's mine!" Ron exclaimed – everyone glared at him for ruining the tension). A large damp spot was evident on his robes, which was either from a stab wound or the molasses. Let's say it was a stab wound.

"Dumbledore!"

Voldemort, in an unlikely turn of events, was the first to run to the professor's aid. He reached into the molasses and grabbed Dumbledore out of it, cradling the old man's head in his arms. Dumbledore coughed up molasses for a few second before weakly turning his head to his one-time nemesis.

"Tom," he wheezed. "Tom, my boy. I'm dying!"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Voldemort took a breath here because his screaming limit is thirty-six letters. "Nooooooooooooooo! It can't be! I won't let it!"

"It is, Tom. I've been stabbed. There's lots of internal bleeding going on right now. It's really painful. Ow. I'd really like some Tylenol right now."

"How can you die?" Hermione asked insensitively. "I mean, aren't you already dead?"

Everyone shushed her, and we now return to our previously scheduled drama.

"Tom, my boy… there's one last thing I need to tell you before I go…" And it was apparent that he was going to go soon – ellipses are a sure sign of oncoming death. "One thing…"

"No, Albus," wept Voldemort. "No more ellipses. You're going to make it!"

"Tom…"

"Damn it, I said no more ellipses! Listen for once, you crickety old bastard!"

Dumbledore just smiled. "Please, Tom… there's one thing…"

"Fine, have it your way," Voldemort snapped. "What is it?"

"Tom… Tom, my boy… Tom, my old student… I just wanted to say… I just wanted to say… that I've always loved you."

Voldemort nearly dropped Dumbledore back into the molasses. "Say what?"

"Just kidding," Dumbledore replied, grinning. "You should've seen your face… sucker."

Dumbledore died, and that was that. It took Voldemort a little while to get over the shock of the fake love announcement. Then he shrugged and the tears began streaming again.

"NOOOOOOO!" he howled, making sure to do it in all-caps so everyone would know how much pain he was in. Then he decided to use italics and multiple exclamation marks, just to emphasize it that much more. _"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"_

"Does anyone else find it ironic that he cares that the old man's dead and we don't?" Harry asked James and Hermione. Neither of them got a chance to answer, however, as Voldemort shot a glare in Harry's direction that would have turned lesser men to stone.

"You! Potter! You killed Dumbledore!" hissed Voldemort, setting the headmaster down and straightening up to his full height. "This is why you care not for his death!"

"'Care not?'" giggled Hermione, but no one paid her any mind.

"Hey hey hey, back up a second, mister!" Harry protested. "I mean, I don't really care that he's dead because he was a manipulative candy addict who nearly ruined my life on several occasions, but I didn't kill him! I was off fighting these two seven-year-olds over here!"

The children in question were too befuddled to even think at this point. They'd just come for the free cake.

"Sure, blame it on the children!" Voldemort leered. "Real brave, Potter!"

"Hey, Tommy, settle down!" Harry looked around and pointed at someone else. "It wasn't me! It was that person over there in the hood who's carrying that big bloody knife!"

Everyone turned to look at this person. They wore a black hooded robe, the shadow from the hood extending just far enough to conveniently hide their face from view. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman. If it was a woman, then she had very – you know what? Let's not go there. Moving on!

"What?" said the hooded figure in a muffled, gender-neutral voice. "It wasn't me! I got this knife from him!"

Voldemort cackled with triumph. "Foiled again, Potter!"

"Does anyone else think Voldy's getting off a little too much on this whole 'kill Harry' thing?" James asked the others out of earshot of the maniacal ex-ex-murderer.

Ron sighed in a reminiscing fashion. "Ah… reminds me of the old days. Good times, good times."

"Have your knife back, murderer!" The hooded figure tossed the knife at Harry, and it skidded to a halt at his feet. The entire crowd began chanting, _"MURDERER, MURDERER, I SEE YOU! YOU'RE NOT TOO CLEVER AND YOU WEAR UNSTYLISH SHOES! MURDERER, MURDERER, WE DON'T ASK WHY! WE JUST SING SONGS AS YOU SIT DOWN AND CRY!" _This, of course, will be familiar to many of our readers as the old children's folk song, "The Wimp Murderer Named Harry Potter Who is a Loser and Smells Right Awkward." The crowd followed up this classic with thrilling renditions of other equally mature songs.

"The people have spoken, Potter!" Voldemort yelled. "Time to die!"

"Now, wait a second! Let's have a bit of due process here!" The crowd continued their chanting. "Oh, bloody hell! Shut up, would you?"

He picked up the knife and hurled it as hard as he could at Voldemort. Everyone gasped – Voldemort flinched – the knife struck him.

And bounced right off him.

Voldemort had closed his eyes, apparently expecting his immediate death (for some reason forgetting the Horcruxes). He peeked out of one eye towards his chest and then towards the bloody knife on the floor. Then, just for good measure, he checked his shirt with his hand. He let out a sigh. "Phew. Good. That's not my blood on there." The crowd let out a sigh of relief as well. "Potter hit me with the hilt, is all. No problem."

"And what are the chances of that?" Harry muttered. "In the action movies the knife always sticks right in their chest."

"Well, losers can't be choosers, eh, Potter?" Voldemort flourished his wand and pointed it at our wimpy hero. "Now. Enough pleasantries. You killed Albus Dumbledore. It is time for you to die, Harry Potter."

Harry saw a flash of green light rushing toward him. He thought for a moment of Ginny, but then he decided that was a dull subject and not fit for his final thought. He then thought of scones, which he'd always thought were exceptionally delicious. More than anything in this life he would miss scones… and lipstick. And mascara and tight jeans. But mostly scones.

Then the light hit Harry and he died.

…

Kind of.

-


	10. Life, the Universe, and Nothing

YO. WASSUP FOOLS? I AIN'T BEEN DOING MUCH BUT CHILLAXING. SO. AS I WAS SAYIN'. LET'S GET ON WITH THE CHAPTER.

"Oh my God!" squealed Ron. "OhmyGodohmygod_ohmyGod!"_

…THE HELL'S UP WITH YOU?

"No! Don't look at me! I'm not even here!" Ron scurried about the paragraphs like a man possessed. "Oh no oh no oh no!"

WHAT IS IT?

"Nothing!"

NOTHING MY – HEY! WAIT A SECOND. YOU DIDN'T GET THE 40 REVIEWS, DID YOU?

"Yes I did!" Ron protested as he hid behind the word 'reviews.'

NO YOU DIDN'T! WHY YOU LITTLE…! I OUGHTA WRITE YOU INTO A DARK HOLE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YEAH! I'M GOING TO DO THAT!

"Please don't, O Powerful Author! I promise I'll get the reviews! I just need more time! Please!"

WELL, ALL RIGHT, BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU CALLED ME 'O POWERFUL AUTHOR.' BUT I'M WARNING YOU, WEASLEY, ONE MORE SLIP-UP AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT FOR YOU, BUDDY.

"Thank you, sir!" Ron groveled. "Thank you so much! You are truly the most amazing author in the universe! Everyone should skip ahead to the end of the chapter and leave you a review right now! The fact that I'm saying that isn't blatant self-promotion or anything!"

AMEN TO THAT, WEASLEY. (INSERT BORING DISCLAIMER STUFF HERE.)

* * *

Ten: Life, the Universe, and Nothing (Which is Incidentally Part of Everything)

-

A strange feeling came over Harry. It was almost like he was being tickled, but less ticklish and more spiritual and freaky. At first he just enjoyed the feeling, but then he began to wonder: _aren't I dead? Shouldn't I be feeling nothing at all? Am I in the afterlife? Oh Jesus I hope they don't factor in all those times I stole Neville's Remembrall for fun when they're deciding whether I go to hell or not. It was just innocent mischief!_

Harry, being well-versed in romantic literature (read: comic books), knew that he needed to just lay there for a good time and up the word count before he woke up. There were other sensations he knew that he was supposed to feel – waves at his feet, birds chirping, etc etc – but the narrator was too lazy to write about them and Harry wasn't complaining. That clichéd crap bored him senseless.

After a while he judged that enough was enough and opened his eyes. At first he saw only white. Then he saw complete black. Then white. Then black. Then white then black then white then black... Harry's eyes started to hurt. It reminded him of a disco ball, or a rave (numerous other memories flooded his mind at this point, although they were murky and morally dubious). It was almost as if –

"Will you stop turning off the lights?" he complained in his loudest voice. "It's annoying me."

The lights stayed on from that point. Grumbling to himself, Harry rocked forward and got up. He soon noticed that he was naked. For a moment he wished for clothes, and they duly appeared, but he then changed his mind and decided that he liked being nude. It was less constraining. And it reminded him again of the more "exciting" raves.

He heard a cough and turned to find none other than Albus Dumbledore standing before him. Harry placed his hands on his hips and accosted his former headmaster. "Well, what're you doing here? Spying on me? Have you been hired by the government to keep an eye on me? I always _knew_ the Patriot Act was too far-reaching!"

"Oh no, my dear boy!" Dumbledore replied. "I'm here because I died and now I have to explain things to you or else there will be no resolution to the story."

"That's dumb."

"It's a fantasy book, Harry, what do you expect?"

"Yeah, I get your point."

Dumbledore eyed him with a degree of wariness. "If you want some clothes you can just wish for them. They'll appear."

"I know. I already did, but I don't want them any more."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry retorted, standing there in all his naked glory.

To Dumbledore's credit, he kept his gaze on Harry's face. "Well, all right. I guess I can't argue with that."

"Good. Now, since we're here and you're an old mentor with a beard and obviously know more than I do about this situation, tell me: where are we?"

"Apparently," said Dumbledore, appearing uncomfortable, "we are in a harem."

"A harem?" asked Harry, his voice cracking. "For real?"

"For real."

"Huh. Any reason why you chose this as our rendezvous point?"

"Oh trust me, I _didn't_ choose this location," Dumbledore shot back. "We're inside _your_ head. I have nothing to do with the location."

Harry cocked his head to the side, not quite comprehending the situation. "We're inside my head?"

"Kind of. It's complicated." Dumbledore raised his hands as if he were preparing to launch into a long speech. "You see, I'm dead, but you aren't completely dead yet. It's kind of messed up. I guess you're really in some kind of in-between state, but you haven't really gone on yet, so technically it's all in your head. It's complicated," he said again.

"Uh huh." Harry pretended to know what was going on, seeing as that had worked for him in every book of the series. "So I choose the location. And whether I wear clothes."

"Yep!" Dumbledore smiled, as he now had a perfect opportunity to use one of his prepared one-liners. "This is _your_ party, Harry!"

"My party?" Harry checked.

"Your party. You're the man now, dawg!" Dumbledore joked in a thinly veiled allusion to an Internet phenomenon. (To the ignorant: Wikipedia it. To those who say you should never have to explain a good joke: it wasn't a good joke anyways, so the Author doubts that it matters.)

"All right! Bring on the beer!" Kegs lined the decrepit walls of the harem. "And the ladies!" Women dressed in demeaning, revealing outfits surrounded Harry. "And Guitar Hero and Rock Band!" A video game console with guitar and drum controllers set itself down in a corner of the room. "Yeah! That's what I call a party!"

"This really wasn't what I meant by 'party,'" Dumbledore remarked. "Are you even of age to drink, Harry?"

"So what? It's my party and I'll cry if I want to!"

Several of the women echoed, "Cry if I want to, cry if I want to!" and Harry gave them all high fives for their efforts.

"Harry, I implore you: leave this harem behind!" Dumbledore implored redundantly, continuing a running gag throughout the fic. "It's not convenient for the type of talk we're going to have."

"The birds and the bees?"

"No. But we can go over that, too, if you want. In fact, why don't we start on that now…"

"No!" pleaded Harry. "Anything but that! I'll change the location! Just stop it!"

The harem disappeared and they were now in a new locale.

"King's Cross," Harry muttered dully. "The place between the Muggle world and the wizarding world, and now the place between life and death. What droll symbolism."

"Oh, give the Author some credit, he's trying here." Dumbledore smiled. "So. We're together, free of any distractions. Any questions, Harry?"

Harry thought for a while. In fact he had been thinking about this situation ever since he'd woken up. It was all too confusing. Several questions came into his head, but none of them were _the_ question. None of them had the right zang, the right, zip, the right originality. He wanted something that was classic, but still relevant. He didn't want some hasty big budget remake; he wanted a novel question that incorporated loving tributes to its predecessors. He wasn't particularly sure why he was thinking of his question as a movie treatment, but he was, and that was that.

Finally Harry found the question had been eluding him for the first part of the chapter. "Why?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, beaming, "that _is_ the question."

"Isn't that the question to everything?" grumbled Harry.

"No, actually," replied Dumbledore. "I think _'Why not?'_ is a rather good question, but that's not the Universal Question either."

"What is the Universal Question?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore beamed again. "Now that's a smart boy! How'd you guess it?"

"What?"

"The question."

"What's the question?"

"Right again!" exclaimed Dumbledore.

Part of Harry gave up trying to figure this out and decided to take a nap. The rest of him was still perplexed. "I don't understand."

"No one does," said Dumbledore. "Except for, perhaps, the Being."

"The Being?"

"The Being at the Center of Everything. The Being that know the Universal Question and, thus, the Universal Answer."

"That know?" asked Harry as another part of him rented a movie and heated up a tub of popcorn, having had it with this whole philosophy business. "Shouldn't that be singular?"

"Oh, some of the time, I suppose," answered Dumbledore breezily. "Most of the time the Being is – are – three separate demi-beings."

Now something made sense to Harry. "Oh. Like the Holy Trinity. The Being is God."

"Oh heavens no." Dumbledore seemed to think the idea preposterous. "Although they might be cousins. But anyways. The Being shifts between three beings and one being and two beings and sometimes no beings. It's somewhat tempestuous."

"Sounds insecure," mused Harry.

"Aren't we all? But regardless, the Being knows the Question and the Answer. Two adventurers – who I believe were commissioned by a pack of superintelligent transdimensional mice – sought out the Being and asked it what the Question was."

Harry found himself interested in this existential adventure. "What was it?"

"It's unclear. The two adventurers were con artists and splendid liars. Each said the other was lying when they reported their findings."

"Well, what were the Questions?"

Dumbledore folded his hands in front of his midriff. "One said it was _'What is the Question?'_ which is wonderful because it answers itself. The other claim it was _'What shall I wear this morning?'_ Both claimed the other was a liar, so naturally one of them was telling the truth."

"Ah, but not if they weren't referring to whether they were lying about the Question and were just saying the other was a liar in most cases. You know. Little inconsequential white lies, like, _'No, honey, I didn't sleep with a stripper while I was in Vegas!'_ or _'Oh, I'm sure they have weapons of mass destruction.'_ You already said they were known as liars outside of this Question business, but what if they weren't lying ABOUT the Question, eh?"

"True," said Dumbledore, "but the mice had paid too much money to consider this possibility."

Harry sympathized with the mice. "Yeah. What was the answer to the second Question? What shall I wear this morning?"

"It's unclear. The Being got bored and dissolved themselves into nothingness. Most scholars agree the answer is definitely _not_ a sweater vest and jean shorts."

"Wise," commented Harry. "So, this Being at the Center of the Universe –"

"Everything," Dumbledore corrected.

Harry scoffed. "The Universe is everything."

"Possibly," replied the headmaster, "but it is not Everything. Everything (capitalized) includes alternate universes and what lies beyond the universe."

"Nothing is part of Everything?"

"Yes. Everything is a paradox." Dumbledore smiled in a terrifying fashion. "It has been theorized that Everything naturally makes no sense. So when something makes no sense, theoretically that makes perfect sense, which in itself is unnatural and makes no sense."

"You scare me sometimes," said Harry.

Dumbledore smiled still.

"I thought it was called the Universal Question, though," continued Harry.

"Yes. The Everythingal Question just doesn't roll off the tongue."

"Yes, yes." Harry placed his hands in his pockets and considered his situation, but he quickly gave up because nothing made any sense and evidently that was perfectly normal. "I suppose that while I'm here I should ask you important questions like, _'Is there a heaven?' _or_ 'How will _Lost_ end?'"_

"Not really," shrugged Dumbledore, "they're unimportant."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Why not?" countered Dumbledore.

Harry had to admit that it was a very good question.

"But seriously," Harry finally said, "about _Lost_…"

"I'm not a big fan," Dumbledore confessed, cutting him off. "Personally, I always preferred _CSI: Miami._ It's just so dramatic when Horatio takes off his sunglasses and makes a clichéd statement."

"Pssh, I hate that show," Harry bemoaned. "Don't you hate it when things are that cheesy and derivative?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "but I love ironic criticism so it all evens out."

"Whatever." Harry shivered. "This place gives me the heebie jeebies. Why am I here, by the by? And I swear to God if you say, _'Why not?'_ I will stuff those damned half-moon spectacles where the sun don't shine."

"Ouch. But in all honesty, I'm not completely sure. I just know there's some rule with fantasy books where the hero has to meet the mentor again after the mentor's 'death,' so to speak."

"So… what are we supposed to do now, exactly?"

"Beats me."

Harry searched Dumbledore's face and found that the weird old creep wasn't lying, or at least he wasn't tipping his hand. "Uh huh." With sudden force the second most brilliant thought ever to pass the mind of man came upon Harry (the most brilliant thought being "run!"). He made to face Dumbledore and grinned. "Sorry to sound sort of oblique, but I've got a question, Professor."

"Oh." Dumbledore lay his hands out to each side as an invitation, seeing no harm in a simple question. "Go ahead. Shoot."

"Okay, here goes..." Harry drew a deep breath for dramatic effect as a crescendo of violins rose in the background, kind of like those ones they have at the end of _Law & Order_ episodes when Jack McCoy's got a perp on the ropes. "I need you to answer me this: who killed you?"

The effect was automatic. With a great hop backwards, Dumbledore recoiled as if he'd been stricken by a rather large and stiff pillow. "No! You know not what you ask of me, my boy! You know not! Woe is I! Woe is my poor pitiful soul! May it wither away and die before I answer such an inquiry! Woe has fallen upon us all! Woe!"

"Whoa," said Harry. "You really don't want to tell me, do you?"

There was a chorus of "Woe!"s now. And then a refrain ("Woe, woe, woe!") just to balance things out.

Harry did the only thing he could.

"Lemon drop?"

Dumbledore's fingers crept open and he peeked out bravely to face his oppressor. "What was that you say?" He hiccupped. "Woe?"

"No! Lemon drop!"

"Woe is I!" cried Dumbledore, attaining (controversial, contested) grammatical perfection and misery at the same moment. "I should never have another lemon drop again, I think."

"Oh really? That's too bad for you." Harry opened his palm to the sky and a packet of lemon drops appeared in his hand (_I could really get used to thinking-to-order, _he thought). He took one out of the packet and popped it into his mouth. "Oh God yes. That's good."

There was no change in Dumbledore's status. If anything he was just more terrified and more reclusive, now rocking in a ball on the floor while sucking his thumb.

"So good. So damn good." Harry racked his brain for possible maneuvers, but his brain was not very large and his efforts were for the most part unsuccessful. So he ad-libbed. "Hot damn. Yeah. Hells yeah, biatch. That's some high quality shit."

Something akin to a spasm shot through the professor and his head twitched up, neck stiffening into an alert position. "What was that you said?"

"Er… hells yeah, biatch…"

"No, no!" Dumbledore pulled himself up and stood. "Did you say… did you say 'high quality shit?'"

Harry's eyebrows rose unilaterally in a dark brown wave. "Yep. Sure is."

"Gimme some of that shit!"

Dumbledore shot toward him like a madman and tore the packet away from his bare hands. Without thinking once Dumbledore brought the pack to his lips and poured every single lemon drop into his mouth.

"Yes! Yes, that's it! DAMN STRAIGHT!" He hopped a little, his mouth full with the delicious addictive candies. "ALBUS IS BACK, FOOLS! BRING IT ON! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"

"Hit me with your best shot!" Harry imitated a guitar riff with his mouth. "Duh-nuh, duh-nuh duh-duh-duh!"

"Yes! Play that guitar, Potter! I'm back on the drops, and you know that everyone loves to see morally conflicted heroes with substance addictions! They always get Emmys and Oscars and stuff!"

"GIVE DUMBLEDORE'S ACTOR AN OSCAR!" Harry shouted.

"Er… okay, maybe not for this role. Maybe for something else."

"What? I thought his performance was dynamic."

"Really? I'm not that angry in real life, am I?"

"Well, there was that one time when you were drunk…"

"Oh please. Name it."

"St Patrick's Day 1996."

"Damn. Was I really that angry?"

"You bitchslapped Snape across the room! You yelled at Dennis Creevey so much that he had to change his trousers! You told Hagrid he has B.O.! Of course he has B.O.! But everyone else has enough tact not to mention it!"

"Okay, well, I was drunk," Dumbledore rationalized. "It doesn't count when you're drunk."

"Wow. I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Yeah… well… maybe that statement was a little out of line. I probably shouldn't have gotten drunk. I apologize."

Harry shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the one with the stung face or the ruined trousers or the destroyed sense of self-worth."

"I'm dead! Stop making me feel guilty over something I can't possibly fix! Unless you want to apologize to them for me."

"No way, dude. Hagrid's got terrible B.O."

"I know!"

"Besides, Snape's a bastard and the other two probably won't even appear in this fic since Creevey's a minor character and Hagrid's accent is annoying to write."

Harry's logic was sound, and Dumbledore told him as much.

"Where is this conversation going?" Harry asked.

"No clue."

They shared an odd moment then. It was the kind of moment when two people realize that they've no idea what to discuss next and so they stand unblinkingly like affluent suburban parents in line for their kid's hot new technological Christmas present (don't get me started on the Wii – a fine gaming device, but spending days in line? Really?). Our two heroes examined their toes and their fingernails and the bench and then their own inner angst, but none of those were interesting topics of discussion. There was an impasse between them, and Harry felt quite like a prisoner escaping from prison, but the guards had spotted him and they had guns and he was surrounded and – _"That's it, I knew they'd run if we left them with their legs," says the rotund stereotypical prison guard_ – oh boy was this an unsavory situation.

"Wow," said Dumbledore. "You really don't like awkward conversation, do you?"

"It's my greatest weakness." Harry paused to think. "Well, that. And saying 'no' to annoying, poorly characterized, fiery, feisty redheads that should remind me of my mother."

"Yes, that too."

"So anyways."

This was the point where Harry had hoped a topic of conversation would come to him. As a teenage fantasy hero, he would be extremely embarrassed if he had come to have his Talk with His Dead Mentor only to run out of things to say and important narrative questions to ask.

Dumbledore asked (with sympathy): "May I suggest a line of inquiry?"

Harry replied (with relief): "Please do."

"It seems to me that the nature of your death is most fascinating."

"Not really. I just saw a light and I died."

"But you didn't."

"See a light?"

"Die."

"Oh. Right."

Dumbledore waited patiently. Eventually Harry caught on.

"Ohhhhhh. Right!" Harry exclaimed. "Why didn't I die?"

"Well, you see Harry, when Voldemort took your blood to resurrect himself, he accidentally preserved the link between you and your mother!" Dumbledore began pacing around the area in front of the bench. Harry couldn't help but notice the headmaster's excitement. (Ewwwww… no, that's not what I meant! Sicko. You should be ashamed!) "And, as I suspected, when he tried to kill you, you were kept alive by his very blood! Very ironic, great twist. There's also some stuff about a seventh Horcrux, but don't worry, you don't need to worry about that. I don't want to deal with all the imminent death angst that could create."

Harry took several seconds to comprehend this. "Right. Blood. Cool. So I'm not dead?"

"No. Although you could stick around here if you want. It'd be a coward's way out, but you could."

"Hm, let's see, complete control of my surroundings and the ability to summon swimsuit models whenever I want… or life with an idiot sidekick, a brainy know-it-all, a horny father, and a suicidal megalomaniac. Tough decision."

"Oh, come on, Harry. You need to go back. You must avenge me!"

Dumbledore was nearly begging now, but Harry knew he had to stand his ground. "Nah. I really like it here. Being dead kicks ass!"

"Yeah, I know, but I really need vengeance! I'm pretty bloodthirsty, you know!"

Harry just whistled an apathetic note.

"Fine," Dumbledore sighed. "I didn't want to do this, Harry, but I must…"

Harry knew enough to know that ellipses could only mean trouble. He let his eyes dart around the area nervously, and before he could identify a source of immediate danger, a soft piano melody filled his ears.

"What the hell?" he breathed. "What's the meaning of this, Dumbledore?"

The headmaster just brought his finger to his lips in a request for silence. The music continued, until a vocal began.

"_Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world…"_

"Oh God," said Harry. "You did _not_ pull out Journey on me."

(Note to readers, specifically any readers who might be lawyers employed by Journey: the Author claims no ownership of "Don't Stop Believing," by Journey. If you don't know it, YouTube it. Your life is not complete until you do.)

"But I did," said Dumbledore, and as if to prove it, the distinctive lead guitar riff echoed in the background. "You can't listen to this song and not be inspired."

Harry wanted nothing more than to argue this point, but then the chorus came, and he just had to move to the beat. By the second verse he was all-out dancing.

"I knew you couldn't resist," Dumbledore stated.

"You're an evil man, Dumbledore!"

But the chorus came and all anger was forgotten.

"_Streetlights – people! Living just to find emotion!"_ they sung together. _"Hiding – somewhere in the niiiiiiiiightttt!"_

Harry talked to Dumbledore as he pantomimed the ensuing guitar solo. "Fine. I'll go back and avenge you. Happy?"

Dumbledore just grinned.

"_Don't stop – believing! Hold on to that feeling!"_

They looked at each other one last time. Outside King's Cross Station a young woman had extreme difficulty parallel parking. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a man in a Members Only jacket walking into the bathroom. Instinctively he knew what was coming.

"_DON'T STOP –"_

And the screen went black as millions of Americans wondered a) if their cable had gone out and b) _what the hell happened to Tony Soprano?!_

Dumbledore stared at the empty space where Harry had been and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. Humming to himself, he turned and made great giant strides into the fog, confident in the ability of his protégé to achieve due vengeance for his death. If he'd really given the matter some thought, he would have quickly realized he was a _little_ overconfident in Harry's competence.

-


	11. Ron's Fifteen Minutes of Infamy

Last time on You Can Call Me Tommy...

(Look it up for yourself! Stop being so lazy!)

Anyways, this chapter kind of takes the tone of the last chapter and pushes it a little further. It's got its outrageous moments, but if subtler, darker humor isn't your thing, then you probably won't like this chapter as much. Don't blame me. Blame Joseph Heller and Jonathan Franzen.

Disclaimer: Why didn't I think of Harry Potter first?

Eleven: Ron's Fifteen Minutes of Infamy

-

Ron was the first to try to rouse Harry.

"Wake up, mate!" he said.

A semi-elliptical sliver of Harry's pupil revealed itself from its pale skin coat. "What is it?"

"It's me, Ron. Your sidekick."

"Oh. What's up?"

"Nothing much. We were just thinking that it was probably time for you to get up and make your dramatic recovery."

This instilled an immediate suspicion in Harry, as when Ron got to thinking it always ended badly.

"I'm sure it's sturdy," said Ron as they gazed at an old, decaying bridge overhanging from two cliffs that framed a large abyss.

"I think it's a great idea!" encouraged Ron as Harry self-consciously inspected his freshly inked "I WANNA BE MCGONAGALL'S WHORECRUX" tattoo.

"I bet she didn't take you seriously when you gave here a ring and proposed to her after getting her pregnant," Ron told a drunken, dizzy Harry as the latter slurped beer out of a saucepan.

"I think it's time we take the next step forward in our relationship," stated Ron as soda squirted out of Harry's nose and onto his newly polished Firebolt.

"You know what?" Harry asked. His eyelids met and the sliver converged on itself. "Wake me up when life is less terrible."

Naturally this provided Ron with an almost unsolvable dilemma. Easily solvable dilemmas provided the redheaded boy wonder with enough trouble as it was, but almost unsolvable dilemmas were out of the question. This left Ron with another dilemma – what to do about the fact he could not solve the present dilemma – and how to solve i_this/i_ new dilemma became another dilemma and so on and so on. Ron's brain was whirring at a million and two miles an hour, but his engine's cutoff was somewhere around sixty-five, and the pistons and carburetors and batteries of his mind worked to the brink of combustion to take on this new workload. Finally Ron decided, in an uncharacteristic move of innate brilliance, to deal with the first dilemma first, as this would make all the other dilemmas irrelevant. Ron did not comprehend the magnitude of his decision, as the implications of his choice were far beyond his level of understanding, but perhaps that was for the better, for Harry had been exactly right: nothing good ever happened when Ron got to thinking.

To the detriment everyone involved, that's what Ron did right then. He thought about his problem, which lay before him (snoring lightly with drool dribbling down its cheek) in plain sight. Harry had explicitly asked Ron not to wake him until life was less terrible, but Ron was no optimist and knew that life usually tended to get worse and worse as you went along. The older you got the more opportunities you had to screw your life up even more, and Ron saw no way to circumvent this depressing quadratic equation of misery. And even if he was naïve enough to believe that life wasn't entirely terrible, and that there was some hope for the future, that was only from i_his/i_ perspective. While his immediate future may have been less barren than he'd initially suspected, who was to say that Harry's prospects were any better? Ron could not wake Harry up until he knew that Harry's situation in life was less terrible, but he could not know if Harry's situation in life was less terrible unless he woke Harry up. Sometimes Ron hated life.

Ron began to wonder if perhaps this wasn't all his fault, as everything seemed to be his fault nowadays. His mother blamed him for everything that went wrong and Hermione blamed him for everything that went wrong and eventually Ron began to think that he wouldn't mind if someone would blame him for everything that went right for a change. After seventeen years of hearing that he was a failure Ron came to accept the truth, and from this moment of revelation he set out to make himself into a success story. To do this Ron thought about all his skills, but the only skill he could think of was a fantastic talent for failure. The solution was soon clear to Ron. To succeed, he would only need to try to fail, as he would inevitably fail in his noble quest for failure.

Now Ron knew what he must do to make Harry's life less terrible so that he could wake his friend from his deep sleep. He only needed to try to i_ruin/i_ Harry's life to make it better. Ron set out immediately to set things right (wrong) with the world. He punched a passing twelve-year-old boy into a bookshelf and took his phone, dialing in Gringott's international toll-free number. The goblin on the other side was surprised when he lied and told him that he was Harry Potter, and that yes, he wanted to invest his entire fortune into the soon-to-be-defunct Exterminaticus Totalus Corporation, and yes, he knew that Neville Longbottom had been murdered only an hour ago, since his body was rotting only a few feet away from where he stood. He didn't care. It looked like a hot commodity.

The goblin hung up and Ron threw the phone to the side. He let out a satisfied smile as the mobile cracked the unconscious boy upside the head and blood began to ooze from his temple. Ron knew he had just ruined Harry's finances, and thus set up his pal for future fiscal success.

Ron looked to compound on his accomplishment by further sabotaging Harry's chances at happiness. He told Hermione that Harry had always loved her and stalked her, and when she didn't believe him, he showed her photos Seamus had taken of her singing in the shower and claimed that Harry had been the photographer. She was too angry and embarrassed to think about the chances of Harry doing such a thing, and instantly fostered an immense hatred for her former friend.

Ron told Remus that Harry had confided in him that Sirius had always been the better father figure, and Ron told Sirius that Harry had confided in him that Remus had always been the Marauder that Harry'd looked up to. He told both of them that Harry had been the one to drink their stash of Firewhisky the summer before sixth year, proud that he had really been the one to do so and even prouder that he had been able to blame Harry for all his misdeeds.

Ron told James and Lily that Harry thought they were terrible parents for going off and dying on him when he was just an infant, and that Harry had thought it infinitely irresponsible to trust Peter with their lives. Ron told Peter that Harry was going to hunt him down and kill him the next time they met, and that Harry would accomplish this with the largest mousetrap known to man. Ron told Snape that Harry had secretly enjoyed his class and thought that Snape was the most wonderful, kind, compassionate, charming, and polite professor in the history of the world, and that if Snape had been trying to torment him throughout his tenure at the school, the slimy-haired git had utterly failed.

Ron told Voldemort that Harry still hated him, and that Harry suspected Voldemort was still evil inside. To finish up, Ron told himself that Harry thought he was a horrible sidekick, and that his head would better be used as a suitcase as there obviously weren't any brains taking up the space inside.

By now Ron was very pleased with himself. He'd managed to alienate Harry from every ally he might have ever had – the ones that weren't already dead, anyways – and he'd done it with admirable efficiency. When Harry woke up his life would be in shambles, and thus everything would be just gravy.

With a pinch on the cheek Harry was brought back to the world of the living, and when he woke he was confronted with the image of a grinning Ron.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Harry muttered an obscenity that could not be written in this fic without raising the rating. He then went back to sleep.

"Aw, don't cuss me out, old sport! I'm not entirely stupid, you know, I can tell when you're insulting me!"

Ron jovially pinched Harry on the bridge of his nose. Harry woke up with a start, muttered an obscenity in German, and went back to sleep.

"C'mon, buddy! I don't know what you just said, but when you speak German it always sounds like you're angry anyways, so I'm gonna guess you cussed me out again! I've got a surprise for you!"

"Whaaaaaaaat?" was Harry's muffled reply.

Ron beamed. "I've been working my tail off, and I think life is less terrible now!"

"Really?" said Harry, and he sat up. "Do you mean to say that you've eliminated the problems of world hunger, unbalanced trade, and exploitation of developing nations by economic superpowers?"

"Nope!"

"Do you mean to say that you've persuaded the leaders of said superpowers to curb back their overly aggressive foreign policies that only encourage terrorism in the countries they're 'saving from themselves,' and that you've also convinced nations and sects all around the world to give up any claim to nuclear warfare?"

"Not in those words, no."

"Do you mean to say that you've succeeded in getting _Dancing with the Stars_ canceled?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Life still seems pretty terrible to me," Harry grumbled.

"Just gimme a chance, will you, mate? I really think you're going to be in for a nice surprise. I've called in a few favors, and I think everything's looking up for ol' H.J. Potter."

Harry had been lied to by everyone he knew and numerous people he didn't know, so he was disinclined to believe that his moronic best friend had somehow improved his tragically heroic situation in life. It was at that moment that Hermione mustered up the courage to approach the two.

"Hello, Harry," she said, uncharacteristically shy. Harry blinked at her, and she blushed before continuing. "I know what's been going on between us, and I was kind of confused and angry for a while, but I think this can work. I'm really scared, but I really think this can work, and I think you were just a bit off in how you displayed your feelings, but that's natural, seeing as you were raised by an abusive aunt and uncle and everything. Oh, look at me, all books and smarts but I get flustered when talking to a teenage boy. I just want to say – I just want to say – well, would you like to spend some time with me later tonight?"

Harry's eyes bulged. "Just how late tonight?"

"Why," she said, smirking and batting her eyelashes at him, her confidence raised, "as late as you think you can last."

Harry passed out right then and there. Hermione revived him with a prompt i_Ennervate/i_ and walked away, swinging her hips side to side as she went. Harry was nearly catatonic, but Ron was jubilant. Harry was going to have sex with the girl Ron was in love with, and it was all Ron's fault.

Harry did not have time to recover from the shock of Hermione's advances before Remus and Sirius loped up to him, followed by his parents.

"Hullo, Harry," said a dejected Sirius.

"Hullo, Harry," echoed Remus, with as much lupine melancholy as an ill-fed puppy (awwwwww poor puppy! What? I like dogs.). "Sirius and I have been thinking. We know we haven't been the most responsible or most available or most mentally stable father figures, and we're sorry for that. We're really going to try to do a better job to provide you with a better future."

"And we know you stole that Firewhisky from us."

"I did not!" protested Harry.

"It's all right, Harry," said Remus, patting him on the shoulder. "We know you were just trying to save us from the dangers of alcoholism. We appreciate how much you've sacrificed on our behalf. Someday we'll make it up to you."

"We'll buy you a broom," Sirius declared.

"I've got a Firebolt," Harry noted. "Best broom there is."

"We'll buy you a Quidditch team!"

Harry jumped into the air with excitement. "Really? Oh my God, you guys are the BEST SUBSTITUTE FATHERS EVER! I totally forgive you for all the stupid selfish childlike things you've ever done that have caused me indirect harm!"

"Three cheers for the blatant materialism of today's youth!" Sirius hollered to the gathered crowd of canon characters and book store customers. "Hip hip – hooray! Hip hip – hooray! Hip hip – hooray!"

"Hurrah, I say once more!" cried out James, a nervous smile played out across his face. He and Lily approached Harry in a sort of zigzag pattern, as if avoiding mines beneath the carpet. As has already been made clear, they were doing this because they were anxious about confronting their son over the issues Ron had brought up, but their anxiety was of a fortunate sort, as Sirius i_had/i_ – in a moment of extreme boredom and dubious sobriety during Harry's flit into the catatonic state – placed mines beneath the carpet, just to see what would happen. Their path somehow miraculously avoided every single explosive, and that just goes to show you that heroes have incredible dumb luck. No worries, though; these two rats are going to be killed off by Tommy over there in a couple years (or sixteen years prior, or twenty-six years prior, depending on the timeline), so they'll get what's theirs soon enough.

"Hullo, Mum and Dad," Harry said, too cheerful to spit out the statement with the venom he'd intended. "What is it?"

"Well…" James looked to Lily for comfort, and when he saw her warm smile he continued. "Okay, we just wanted to say that we're really sorry for dying when you were a baby."

"Yes," said Lily. "We didn't mean to."

"It wasn't in our plans," agreed James. "It was sort of inconvenient. I was like, 'Ach! It's Death! Away from me, Death!' And Death was like, 'No, dude, I've got a murder in five minutes. Some wife is killing her husband for cheating on her, and if you don't hurry I'll be late. Oh, by the way, your wife's about to die. Sorry.'"

"You had a conversation with Death?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. He's not a bad guy. Got a crappy job, but that's not his choice. And he's quite a good singer, incidentally."

"And that's not all," pressed Lily. "We also realize how utterly stupid it was to trust Peter with our lives and your life and pretty much the fate of the world. In our defense, that was Sirius's idea, and he had to get us drunk to agree to it."

"No, it was perfectly consensual!" Sirius argued. Upon seeing Lily's – and more importantly, James's – expression, his face fell. "Oh, so we're not talking about that time you and I fooled around in seventh year when James was in the Hospital Wing? Because you took off your shirt before I'd even gotten the Firewhisky out."

"No more of this, I'm killing the bastard –"

"He's joking, James!" Lily tossed her hair over her shoulder and directed a glare towards Sirius. "Right, Sirius?"

"Uh, yeah." Sirius laughed to try to break up the tension. "Man, this is almost as awkward as when Lily told me I might be the father of her unborn baby!"

"That's it, I_AVADA KEDAV–"/I_

It occurred to Harry that he should be extremely depressed that his parents' marriage was falling apart in front of his eyes, and that the father he loved so dearly was about to kill the godfather he loved so dearly (who might have actually been his father). It was an odd thing, seeing his possible fathers fight each other, but more than anything it was pretty amusing. Suddenly everything seemed funny to Harry.

"So which one is actually my father?" he casually asked Lily. James had Sirius in a headlock.

"Neither," she sighed.

"Oh God, don't tell me it's Snape. That would totally ruin this perfect day."

"Heavens no. Your father is Remus."

Remus gave Harry what would have normally been a very creepy pat on the shoulder, but now Harry just basked in the warmth of his biological father's love. "She's right, son."

"Sweet, I always thought Remus was pretty cool, anyways." He looked at Lily. "So did you sleep with Peter, too?"

"No, and don't make me sound like some… some prostitute!" she spat with disgust. "I mean, James… I married him! And Remus was my best friend back at Hogwarts and the boy I truly loved but because Remus didn't want to hurt James and I was too cowardly to break up with James we never got together. And everyone's slept with Sirius."

"Isn't that the truth," said Remus (because Remus and Sirius are pretty much a canon couple).

"I'm there with you on that one," said Snape.

"What the hell?"

Snape noticed Harry's bewilderment. "After he nearly got me killed in sixth year. I went to go fight him, but we got bored of fighting and so we –"

"Screwed!" chortled Sirius. He had James pinned to the floor, his knee on his throat. "You are so screwed now, my friend! I always knew I'd be the one to kill you."

Voldemort coughed.

"Okay, I give credit where credit is due. But I always knew I could kick your ass!"

"Arse," said Remus.

"Whatever."

"Potter," drawled Snape as James's windpipe began to collapse, "Weasley has been telling me some things you said about me. I wish to know if his allegations are true."

Harry was noncommittal. "Probably. It seems like he's done a pretty good job of telling people what I think of them so far. A few embellishments, but not much."

"Oh."

"What'd he say?"

"I said that you thought Snape was a wonderful, charming man," stated Ron, "and that you'd always enjoyed his class and thought that he was just a champion of happiness and sunshine and bunnies and that stuff."

"And that my efforts to torment you failed completely," added Snape.

Harry took a second to deliberate. Under normal circumstances, he would never go along with anything Ron said, because when Ron made decisions they always ended in disaster. In this case, however, he quite enjoyed the disaster and mayhem Ron had promoted, for everyone else (Ron included) was getting screwed over and Harry was profiting from their misery. He wondered if this was what funeral home owners felt like every day. Suddenly the thought of owning a funeral home became incredibly appealing, as he'd found he very much enjoyed misery, so long as he wasn't the one experiencing it.

"Yep, that's right. You were a great teacher."

"Oh Lord. Where's McGonagall or Dumbledore or anyone? I quit teaching forever!"

Snape stormed off, tugging at his hair, which was entertaining because he could never get a good grip on it due to the copious amounts of grease it exuded.

"There's one slimeball gone," said Harry, satisfied. "Where's Pettigrew?"

"He scurried off earlier," Voldemort mentioned. "Said something about a mousetrap and that he'd never come within a hundred yards of you again."

"Wow, my day just keeps getting better and better!" Harry's eyes stayed on Voldemort. "So, are we on speaking terms again?"

"Yes. I was being foolish earlier. I was letting my anger get the best of me. I was trying to do the right thing, but I wasn't going about it in the correct manner. I realize that you've been right about me. So. Friends?"

"Til the end!" said Harry, and they shook hands.

"Why don't you die?" James screamed as he stabbed Sirius repeatedly in the chest with a fork. "Just bleed out already!"

"Chest protection charm," said Sirius, chuckling. "Keep stabbing away, buddy."

"That's it. I'm going to go find an axe. You can't fight back if you don't have a head!"

"Aw," said Lily. "They look like they're having such fun."

Remus smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Yes, it's good to see them so happy."

"DIE! DIE, POTTER!" Sirius screamed over the rattling of machine gun fire. James hid behind an overturned table as bullets shot over his head. "I WANT TO SEE YOU SCREAM IN PAIN AS YOU DIE!"

"Makes me almost want to join in on the fun," said Remus, wistfully.

At that moment Hannah Abbott walked by, dressed in a designer suit-dress and talking on an expensive cell phone. "No, I don't care about the stockholders. No, I don't care about the kids in the sweat shops. I especially don't care about the kids in the sweatshops. I want to have a record-setting quarter, do you hear? Lie, cheat, steal, kill. I don't care how you do it. Remember, if you don't do your job, I know where your family lives, and I also know several hitmen quite intimately. Good. Go get 'em, tiger. No pressure."

"Hannah?" asked Harry.

"Hold on… er… Harold!" She seemingly remembered his name. "Harold, baby, how are you doing!"

She came over and gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"It's Harry, actually," he said as she drew back. "How are you? You look… busy."

"Oh, I am, I am," she said. "Exterminaticus Totalicus has just gone through the roof, thanks in large part to the funds we got when you bought out a portion of the company."

"What?"

Ron nudged him in the back.

"Oh yes, I remember! I totally approved that monetary transaction, too."

"Yes, yes. But business has just been going through the roof!"

"Excuse me, but how? Neville's dead."

"I know, but after he died using your money and his life insurance I was able to buy several smaller commodities. Those did well, and then I bought larger commodities, and those didn't do as well, so I hired some criminals to kill off all my rivals. Then business started to boom, and after I bought out several politicians, things just skyrocketed."

"Oh." Murder and corruption. Harry was starting to like Hannah more and more. "I like your style, Abbott."

"Thanks, doll." She reached into her leather purse. "Anyways, here's a sheet describing most of our company statistics. You'll notice our share of the timber market has gone down recently, but we just organized to have the headquarters of our rival company burned down, so that'll sort itself out."

"Good, I guess." He scanned the sheet. "The video game division has really huge losses."

"I know, it's great. It's very profitable to be so unprofitable."

"Pardon?"

"You see, whenever our company's stocks are too high, I sell off all my shares. Then I intentionally make several terrible fiscal decisions, which I don't have to pay for because all my shares have been sold. Then I buy back the shares at a much discounted price, kill off several of our competitors, and then sell the stocks when they're at a high and repeat the process."

"Huh. I never thought it would be so lucrative to be in the red."

"You just don't know business," said Abbott. She got out her cell phone and began absent-mindedly dialing in a number. As she did this, she paced, and eventually she ran into the body of her former lover. "Oh my God! What the hell is this?"

"It's Neville's remains," Ron said. "He's just been hanging out. If you want him you can have him."

She inspected the carcass with a degree of both horror and fascination. "Hm. No, that's all right." She held the phone to her ear; apparently whomever was on the other end had picked up. "Yes, Smithee? I just got a great idea for a business. I know we already own most of the hitman industry, but I'm thinking about self-help classes for people wishing to kill their spouses and cashing in on the life insurance. I think it could potentially be very lucrative."

"I love business," Harry sighed happily.

"Yes," agreed Voldemort. "Killing's always in demand."

For the first time something struck Harry. He had asked Ron to wake him up when the world was less terrible; while Harry was much happier now, he couldn't properly say that the world was any less terrible. If anything, the world was an exponentially more terrible place, but for some reason he was happier than he had ever been. He wondered if maybe this was the way the world worked. Maybe you could only be happy if you made other people unhappy. Maybe happiness was a limited, nonrenewable resource, and if that was the case, then he'd start a proxy war in far-off countries if it meant he could get a better buying rate on happiness. Other people be damned. Everything was all about Harry, all the time. In other words, it was uOrder of the Phoenix/u all over again.

"So, Harry," said Ron, "what do you think? I'd say life is pretty wonderful."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "For me, anyways. And that's all that matters."

Harry was now a full-blown antihero, and damn proud of it. Life was so much more fun when you were a complete jerk. He never had stopped to admire the simple beauty of squishing a bug beneath his heel. But now he relished in the feel of the bug against the pavement, the little screams it made as its stomach crushed in on itself, the gorgeous green stain on the pavement that said, i_"To: World, From: Harry Potter - Don't mess with me, okay?"/i_

"Come on, Ron. Let's go find some punks robbing a store or something. We can beat them up and then steal the money."

"Oh goody! Is it time to kick ass and take names, like they do in summer blockbusters?"

"Yippee-ki-yay, Ron."

"Wait, Harry!" said Hermione. "We have to have sex first!"

"She's right, Harry," said Voldemort. "So far you haven't been nearly chauvinistic enough to be a proper antiheroic antihero. First you need to objectify some women and then leave them without even giving them your number."

Hermione faced Harry. "Hold on a second! Is that all I am? Only a good lay?"

"No, no, of course not, Hermione!" Harry protested. "You're the love of my life, the star that guides my way, the reason for my existence, et cetera, et cetera. I would never do something like that. I don't want meaningless, cheap sex. I want to make sweet love to you as an acoustic pop-rock song plays in the background! It'll be very deep and meaningful and then I'll probably go off and die in some terribly sacrificial heroic manner."

"Oh Harry!"

Hermione swooned in a completely out-of-character display of sentimentality, and Ron high-fived Harry behind his back.

"Remember, Harry: get what you want and then dump her! And use protection. You don't want her to have anything that might connect you legally, especially not a kid."

"Good advice, if you're looking to be the typical sexist action hero," agreed Voldemort.

"Ron, I hate to say this, but you're a genius. I'm almost sorry that I'm going to sleep with the girl you want to marry."

"I know, Harry."

"It's all right. She's way too smart for you, anyway."

"I know, Harry."

Hermione was an idiotic sex tool, Ron was doomed to foster an unrequited love for the rest of his life, Harry would never seek meaning in his life ever again, and Voldemort just encouraged all this immoral behavior because he'd lost all confidence in himself after Ron had told him what Harry "thought" of him and he couldn't bring himself to stand up to his friend. Voldemort was the Alfred to Harry's Batman, if it was a psycho version of Batman where Batman was an immoral womanizer, Robin was a lovesick self-destructive dolt, and Alfred had two slits for a nose. Everything was rosy, in Harry's opinion.

"Well, if you guys don't mind, Hermione and I are going to go have a nice 'chat,' if you know what I mean…"

"Wait, Harry," said Voldemort. Harry looked at him, and the former Dark Lord nearly lost his nerve. "I know we're all having a thematic exploration of immorality in modern cinema, but we've forgotten something."

"I don't care," grumbled Harry. "I've been the antihero. Now I want to get the girl."

"If you would be so obliged, I think this would sufficiently add to your many accomplishments and only increase your fame."

"I don't care about fame. I care about badassery. It's all about my public image."

"Well, I think it'd make you look very badass. Avenging your mentor's murder is a recurring theme amongst the origin stories of the most badass heroes of all time."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, Tommy?"

Voldemort began to speak, but Harry held up his hand to stop him. After waiting several seconds to build the tension and cuing a stark piece of ambient music in the background, Harry gestured for his comrade to continue.

"I'm saying," said Voldemort, finally, "that you need to find out who killed Albus Dumbledore."

-


End file.
